


Winds of Change

by 21citrouilles



Series: Winds of Change [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Anger, Boats and Ships, Canon-Typical Violence, Escape, Essos, F/M, Healing, King - Freeform, King Landing, Romance, Survival, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/21citrouilles/pseuds/21citrouilles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Healing can be possible when certain events trigger change in persons and when they are taken out of their usual environment. Then their personalities can balance themseves out while they remain true to their essence. This will happen to both Sandor Clegane and Sansa Stark. This will be a tale told in three parts - each part an AU starting at a different point in the original story, and exploring different angles and events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> The first part begins about a month before the Blackwater Battle. The betrothal between Sansa Stark and Joffrey Baratheon has been broken and Sasa's fate is even more incertain.

** CHAPTER I **

**Sandor**

Wrenched suddenly from dark dream, I startle awake with the strangest sensation; a strong sense that something important is going to happen. Today.

It is true that I’ve not been myself lately; but in darker moods I’m not one to suddenly develop _fanciful thinking._ I can’t figure out from where it has come from. Nothing unusual has happened on the previous days.  And still, that damned feeling still has stuck to me all day long like a second skin, even if today is spending itself in the habitual manner. Because of my shield duties to the king, I have followed him everywhere he had gone to, from excruciatingly long court cases, petitions, witnessed the punishments that he has doled frequently; listening to his whining and unreasonable demands.

_That is nothing new._   Seven Hells, am I tired of this boy!

After supper, I make a detour as usual to the godswood, hoping to spy on a familiar presence there – but not sign of the little bird. That increases my uneasiness. Lately, I’ve not seen her there as often as I did before. I decide then to leave the Keep for the city for gambling and drinking. It is my night off; the other kingsguards have the shield duty tonight.

I meet the regular companions and while I usually enjoy gambling, I go at it tonight in an indifferent way, really not caring about the stakes or outcome; the other players irritate me and I bark at them regularly.  I look around me and see nothing there that can distract me and lift off that deep sense of weariness that I feel. I think of leaving and maybe visit the whorehouse, but that doesn’t spark an interest either. What would be the use of going? This also doesn’t please me much anymore; being partly relieved of desires for a moment only for them to return stronger than ever with nothing to really satisfy them will only make me feel more frustrated. I feel like getting drunk, really blinding drunk tonight, but the foreboding that still shadows me keeps me from doing it, and I’m left with nothing to numb me.

Deep down,I know when that dissatisfaction started but I really don’t want to think about it now, as there is nothing that I can do about it.

I leave abruptly and ride through the city, finding a small comfort in that _at least_ I still derive satisfaction from riding; it always helps clear my head. I’m more vigilant tonight, thinking that maybe my instincts have warned me about some kind of unexpected danger, but nothing happen as usual. I’m not surprised. The sight of a big man in dark armor with a half burned ugly face is enough to discourage anyone from foolhardy schemes. And as I enter the castle, only the regular insults are exchanged between me and those that stand guard.

Going down the stairs of the Serpentine, I come in through a side door and enter the Keep. I feel like sniggering at these feelings that I‘ve had all day long. _So much for this nonsense, I must be really tired._ Still, as I enter the first hallway, I’m sensing that the feeling is becoming very strong now; an icy finger touches the back of my neck, making the small hair there stand up.  _Is my death coming now?_ In spite of myself I feel that I’m becoming tense. I stride in hallways that are empty; I only hear the sound of my boots resonating hollowly in the stillness. This is normal at this time of night; but it feels different now. The only movements are coming from the flames of the torches; they bend and struggle against the currents of air, their flickering light creating dancing shadows.

As I cross the junction of the hallway that will take me to my quarters, a distant sound catches my ears and that makes me stop in my tracks. It sounds like pattering and it’s coming in this direction!  Contrary to my nature, some instinct makes me retreat in a shadowed corner. I touch the pommel of my sword. The sound is getting closer now and is becoming clearer: light running footsteps created by slippers, not boots. I lean my neck from the corner and I stare intently at the other end of the hallway, where suddenly appears a figure in an ornate blue dress, face white and long copper hair flying behind it.

Sansa Stark! I can hear her laboured breathing now and see how her eyes are enlarged by terror, the whites showing. The sight starts my heart hammering in my chest. I feel stuck rigidly in my corner. What is she doing here, running like this? This feels like a hunt, and she’s the prey. She’s approaching fast to where I’m hidden, and will pass by quickly and vanish if I don’t do anything.  And still I don’t move, rooted by hesitation, rooted by old habits and loyalties. It’s happening too fast... Then as she runs by my hiding place, I jump from the shadows and catch her from behind, grabbing her around the waist and clamping my hand on her mouth before she screams. Then I think that I’m starting to hear some kind of commotion coming from the same direction that she appeared from.

I drag her struggling to my chamber, closing the door with a shoulder and locking it hurriedly; then I push her further as I lower my head to her ear, whispering harshly.

 “Don’t scream now little bird. I’ll help you.”

Although she has stopped struggling, as soon as she has recognised the sound of my voice her body has stiffened. I release her from my hold and stand in front of her, gripping her shoulders hard. She’s panting, trying to regain her breath; her blue eyes are gazing in mine fearfully and I can feel her trembling through my hands.

“You’ll be safe if you do exactly as I say.”

_I need to keep my wits about me._ I know that by interfering in what whatever is playing out now that I’ve crossed a line and betrayed my old loyalties, and that if the King finds her in my room, I’ll lose my head and she will die a slow tortured death.

As to remind me of this, I hear heavy stomping footsteps, coming from boots this time, in the hallway beyond my door, and they’re coming fast. Her face gets paler still and she starts to shake badly. I lower my head down, speaking urgently.

“Now, try to stay calm. Your life depends on it. You go under the bed, and follow my cues. Under will mean roll from under the bed and when I say it again, roll back in. I’ll create a distraction while you do that. NOW!”

She moves like in a trance and disappears clumsily but fast under the bed. Fortunately, my coverlet is thick and the sides touch the floor. I mess up the top of the bed, bring the basin and put it on the floor near the head of the bed.

The footsteps have stopped at the door; somebody tries to open it and finding it unyielding, pounds on it.

“Hound, open up in the name of your King!”

The pounding continues with lots of yapping, and I shout that I’m coming in a cracked voice. I feel lightheaded and stagger to the door like when I’m drunk, my knees wanting to buckle under me. As I unlock the door and open it, I barely have time to glimpse the King, ser Meryn, ser Balon and one of my men as they crowd me in their impatience to enter. _Hells, it must be very serious if the King has deigned to be part of the pursuit._ I cough a bit and make gagging sounds, causing them to retreat hastily from me.

“What the fuck do you want?” I growl. “This is my night off.”

“What’s wrong with you?” asks the King. “You look flushed and out of breath, and you sound like you‘re going to be sick”.

I make a grimace and rub my stomach. “I don’t feel good. Something I ate doesn’t seem to be agreeing with me.”

Ser Meryn smirks. “Or maybe you drank too much, as usual.”

I snort at him. I would be hard to choose which one, between him and the King that I resent the most. The pretty boy looks at me impatiently, and I clutch my middle, gagging again.

“Where is she?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The Stark girl!” Joffrey says exasperatedly, as if it should have been obvious to me too. “Ser Meryn thought that she was wandering to this part of the Keep. Have you not encountered her?”

“How the fuck could I have?” I bite back. “I’ve been here feeling sick. Leave me alone.”

I move to go back to my bed, but Joffrey stands up in front of me, looking very peevish.

“Then you’ll recover. Now!” he orders. “I need you to find her for me, and right now: starting with this room.”

I can’t believe the gall of this boy. Rage fuels me so well that I don’t feel any nervousness about the very real danger of this situation, and I lift a hand mockingly.

“Then let them search my room! But as you can see, there’re not much hiding places in this rat hole.”

_It is_ a spare room, a soldier’s rooms with no frills. The three walk around the chamber, foolishly looking in corners, and I could really laugh at their serious intent. Meryn opens up the chest and checks inside, naturally finding nothing; the girl would have to be folded in two to be able to fit in.  He looks at the King for further instructions, coming again to join our group.  _How stupid men can get when they obey a mad one!_

Joffrey is really getting worked up, and points at the bed.

“Look under the bed, you fools! It’s the obvious place. That’s where she is!” he screeches.

I roll my eyes upward, shaking my head in derision.

“You’re not serious, are you?  Why would the Stark girl hide under my bed? She cannot bear the sight of me and she’s terrified by me. And I’m your dog, remember?”

“Nevertheless, my dog will lift the bedcovers so we can look. And Meryn, lower the lamp.”

I shrug indifferently. “If that what your grace wants, who am I to argue? Let’s look _under_ the bed then.”

While we all lower ourselves on our knees, I clutch my middle urgently, grimace and start to gag again, and the King keeps a prudent distance from me. Ironically, the pain is real now, gripping my stomach. My fit over, I lift the right side of the coverlet, while Meryn points the lamp under the bed, moving it slowly so it can light up the farthest reaches. We all bend over to look. The coverlet is thick enough so that no shadows created by the light can be seen through it.  Fortunately there’s nothing under the bed, and relief surges through me. 

“Are we finished now?” I ask in a bored tone.

“No, I cannot see in that corner! Meryn, point the light there!”

“Enough! Do you think that the little bird has transformed into a mouse? I’m sick of this. We’ve seen nothing _under_ that fucking bed.”

I drop the side of the coverlet, and the king’s face turns bright red.

“Dog, I’ll have you speak to me with more respect than that! Or else...”

I choose that moment to start coughing and gagging again, doing it with such force that it turns my stomach, and crawling fast on my hands and knees, I barely have time to reach the basin before I throw up in it, my sides heaving. While I’m having a bad turn, I’m still able to feel amused at the speed the King and the men have recoiled from me, not wanting to dirty up their pretty clothing. Finished, I drag myself up and sit heavily on the edge of the bed, having to catch my breath.

The King is even more furious. “Dog, be careful of what you do! This is disgusting, you almost splashed me.”

“I told you that I was sick. Will you leave me be then?”

He pinches his mouth. “But I need you to search for her, all over the castle!”

 I can well see him having a tantrum, as childish as he’s looking now. I sigh again and look at him. “I’m in no shape for it boy, as you can see.” I look at my man. “Make up a search party of fifteen, in teams of three. Start looking at the upper levels down to this one. Have others ride to the Gates to see if the guards found her trying to escape through them. Report regularly to the King, and if I start to feel better, I’ll join the search. Satisfied, your Grace?”

He’s clearly unhappy about it, as I know that I am the only one that he really trusts, but then his face lights up.

“I’ll send the healer; he’ll give you a potion and then you’ll feel better!”

_All the better for it, sending the healer; exactly the man that I need. There won’t be suspicion cast on him later, as the king himself had him sent to me._ While I had acted unthinkingly in catching her midflight in the hallway, meanwhile thoughts fast and furious have calculated hard in my head, creating the outlines of something. 

They finally leave, and I can breathe better. I drink some wine to take away the nasty taste in my mouth and then get up, picking up the basin on my way to the open window and throwing it through it, vile contents and all. I hear it giving a satisfying metallic clatter as it lands further away on the ground. _Good, I won’t need it again._

I come back to the bed and kneel down again, lifting the coverlet and finding her huddling under it. I drag her, and picking her up under her armpits, help her stand up. She looks dusty and flustered and is breathing fast.  Regardless of her state, the danger and terror, I can see a concern in her eyes as she looks up at me.

“I’m sorry, you’re really sick, aren’t you?” she asks worriedly.

I could shake my head. _This is so like her._

I chuckle drily. “No, I tried too hard to be convincing. I’m fine. As for you, I hope that you didn’t find any corpses or something horrible under the bed? You did well, by the way. The immediate danger is gone.”

Now, she looks around my chamber wonderingly and with some surprise, as she perhaps imagined that my room was a place of untold horrors, with bloody weapons and cut off heads on the walls.  But it’s only a room, with a bed, some gear, a chest and a nightstand with a flagon of wine on it. She fixes her eyes on the floor.

 “Is it, really?”

“Yes.” I put a hand that I hope is steady on her arm, and I can feel her flesh shrinking from the touch, looking fearfully at me.  This makes me gnash my teeth in rage, but I remove the hand. I want to tell her to stop being afraid of me for once, but I only sigh in exasperation.

Before we can say anymore more, somebody knocks on the door again and I ask who it is. “Elmar,” answers the healer and I open the door in a narrow slit, just wide enough for him to slip through, and then I close the door again, all the while standing in his face as to block this view. He looks at me quizzically.

“You don’t look very sick.”

“No, I don’t. But I still need your help. I need your word; that what you hear and see tonight won’t get out of this room.”

I have known Elmar for a long time. We had both saved each other’s life in the past: he had healed me from a badly infected wound, and I had saved his life later on. I had brought him here to the Keep, where he had become the healer. I’m counting on his gratitude now.

He inclines his head. “I give you my word ser. I owe you a lot.”

I move sideways, allowing him full view of the other occupant of the chamber, and he steps back, visibly shocked. But when he speaks, his tone is calm.

“Oh, I see.”

“ _Oh_ indeed.” I turn to look at her. “Now, what was the meaning of this?”

She wrings her hands and I can see real torment in her contracted features. She doesn’t say anything and is trying to avoid my gaze. I stride near her and lean down.

“I want to know why the knights and the King were running you down at this time of night. What happened?”

“I cannot speak of it.”

This creates the sound of bells ringing dangerously in my head. I don’t like this at all. “You’ll have to speak girl. I need to know.”

My tone has gotten harsher, and Elmar clear his throat and signal with his eyes for me to back off. Reluctantly I do it, and it is Elmar’s compassionate way of gazing at her that finally unlocks her words. She lowers her gaze and bends down her neck while her hands keep gripping each other.

“The ... the King has tried to enter my chamber at night.  I always lock it, so I feel ... safer. He keeps knocking and calling me, and I pretend that I sleep and don’t hear until he goes away.“

I can feel my mouth start to twitch, and I clench my fists repeatedly to contain my climbing anger.

“How long as this been going on?” I growl.

“It started several weeks ago.  I never know when he’s going to come, as he doesn’t do it every day, and sometimes three or four days pass before he tries again. The last time he came, two days ago, he said that next time he would bring some of his knights, and that they would break down my door!”

She sobs on her last words and I can see her trembling all over. My insides are tensing hard and I have to breathe slowly for a moment, as I’m seeing red. The King would never have dared to act like this while still being betrothed to her. Her status as a royal betrothed had protected her. _Fool that I was;_ I had expected, with the king now betrothed to another that he would be distracted by a new pretty girl and would finally leave her alone. But no, the spoiled boy still wants to play with his toy! This makes me feel even more powerless and angry. And I’ve been feeling like this for a long time.

I speak in a raspy tone, “So is that’s what happened tonight?”

“There was no time for it to happen. As the hour grew later, I got more and more scared that he would come, and I couldn’t stay in my room waiting for this.  As soon as I left it, I heard footsteps coming further down the hallway, and I panicked and ran down the stairs.”

Her arms have come up in a protective manner across her chests, her hands gripping her shoulders. She’s still looking down on the floor, and I realise that this comes from shame. I feel my teeth start to gnash against themselves again. I know better than to touch her, but I come closer and lower down my face near hers.

“Look at me!”I order and she does it reluctantly. “You’re safe for the moment, but the search is going on, and even if we found you a good hiding place, you won’t be able to stay hidden forever. So what do you want now? If you stay, this will go on, but even worse since you defied him, and I won’t be able to stop it. Or do you want to leave?”

She gasps at my words. The idea has come too suddenly for her and the shock of it is making her even more overwhelmed. Her eyes are rolling in panic. I can see that she’s in no shape to make a decision, but at the same time, I want her assent.

“There’s no time to reflect. If you don’t want to escape, just leave this room and we’ll speak no more of this.”

For a moment she glances around in hesitation, then clenches her fists and gives a small curt nod.

I blow out a big breath and turn to Elmar. “And you healer, are you willing to help with this?”

I have watched his face from the corner of one eye while she spoke and have seen a lot of turmoil in it, an unusual tension hardening his jaws; he’s bothered by this, having a young daughter. He nods silently.

“Well then. I need you to bring her downstairs in your quarters; have your wife find her servant’s clothes, and dress her in a couple of layers of them, as she won’t be able to bring anything with her. Hide her hair too. Also, I want you or your wife to make her up, like she has been beaten in the face. The search of the castle will take some hours, so you won’t be bothered. I know a girl, Roslyn, who looks a bit like her. Near the end, I will have ‘suspicions’ that this Roslyn knows something. I’ll send my men outside the gates to begin a search. You’ll hear the racket. At midnight, bring the lady in the stables by the rear entrance, and I’ll pretend to conduct an interrogation and beating of this girl.  Everybody will hear. Then I’ll leave to join the party with my new ‘information’.  Is everything clear?”

“Yes ser. It will be done.”

While Elmar hasn’t questioned the why of attempting something so dangerous, I feel through his compassionate healer’s eyes that he’s seeing clearly through me, and I am grateful that he doesn’t say or ask anything.

“We’ll bring her down now, and then I will have to join the search, and report that you cured me with one of your potions, so there will be no connection with you. Let’s go.”

Because of all the commotion and people upstairs, the way down is clear and we reach the healer’s quarter without mishaps. I give them one last look and leave abruptly.


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second part of the escape.

** CHAPTER II **

**Sandor**

The next hours seem like a dream, as it feels very strange to have to play the role of the _old_ Hound. On my way up the stairs, I have realised that the weariness and the fog that had enveloped me for so long are gone; I feel alive again. I even feel like _smiling._ This kind of joy is an unfamiliar feeling to me, and I think that I’m not handling it well. _Clamp on it dog; time enough after to feel ‘joy’. You’re a soldier, so buck up._ The old discipline seems to work, and when I join the others on the second upper floor I feel calm. And spying the look of satisfaction spreading on the King’s face as he spots me works to destroy the last of my good mood. I feel the old resentment well up in me. _You spoiled boy, thinking that I’ll always there to do your bidding, regardless of pain or sickness. This is the last time, you little bastard._

In a way, this playing the role of the Hound is amusing, as I get to fan even more of my natural anger to hide my real thoughts, and using this excitement gives me a lot of energy, striding faster, barking orders at my men. I insult everybody as I wish. Once one of the men, upon first seeing me join them, asked if the tender care of the healer’s wife had helped my health, and I told him off by saying that if he didn’t stop his fucking blabbing, he would need the healer’s services fast.

The latest report has been that the guards saw nobody trying to slip through the Gates.

Especially now, I relish it all, this futile search, everybody getting more nervous by the King’s increasingly bad mood, because none of it matters to me anymore. And I’m experiencing a peculiarly delicious malevolent joy as I look on the king’s spiteful face. _You’ll never have her or hurt her again! She’s my prize now!_

At the same time, I question the servants, who’ve been roused from their beds, and I wait until near the end of the search to question Roslyn, the one that I was looking for. I grab her arm and drag her in a storage room and push her against the wall. She starts to whimper and I shush her by slashing a finger against my throat. She’s thinking that I’m going to rape her and shrinks further back against the wall. Then she gets even more confused as I do nothing except keeping her pressed to the wall, so she won’t run off and undo everything.  I wait the necessary amount of minutes; then we come out and the men look at me with raised brows and smirks.

“I think that this girl saw something; somebody was seen with Sansa Stark, but she doesn’t want to say more. With the help of this other one I think that the bird probably managed to find a way through the dungeons and their airing crate, thus by passing the gates.  I’ll have to take some stronger measures to know who helped her.”

“No! I’m innocent; you’re lying! I didn’t see anything, I know nothing!” She’s shrieking in terror; I jerk her arm and take her with me down the stairs to the stables, screaming all the way. This makes the men laugh heartily.

They all follow behind us to the stables in the courtyard. As I stand near the opening of the stables, the men troop in front of me, waiting for further instructions.  Thankfully, Joffrey has retired to his chamber for the last half hour, bored with the long unfruitful search. He would have stuck to me like mud to a pig, and I have gambled on his lack of patience.

“Go to the Gods Gate, and start the search in the Kingswood. I’ll be joining you shortly, once I get more information out of this wretch.”

Somebody distributes torches among the men, and they all start to lead their horses out of the stables and mount. The girl has stopped screaming, and as I grab her arm, I can feel her shaking like a leaf. I take her to the shadowed parts of the stables, where there’s a semi open room with old saddles and equipment. I move my torch around the corners, and there in the darkest one, I spy a hooded figure, with her back turned. I let out a big sigh, not realising until now that I has stopped breathing. I stop, put the torch on a sconce and blocking her view, I release my hold on the servant girl. The colour drains from her face immediately, and she looks at me like a terrified rabbit.

“You can go now.”

She looks at me, bewildered and uncomprehending, and I have to push her near the back door.

“Go! Go back to your bed; this was a bad dream. Understand?”

She looks at me gratefully, and skitters out of the stables as fast as she can. When she has left, the hooded figure turns around, facing me. I lower the hood, and gazing at her face, whistle softly. She has dark bruises under each eye, a red one on her left cheek, and some blood is smeared off on the left corner of her mouth. With the kerchief that is wound around her head and the simple gowns, she’s unrecognizable.

 “Good. They did well. Now, for the fun part...”

She looks alarmed. “What ... do you mean?”

“I have to pretend to beat you, remember? You’ll have to scream.”

“But I’m not a screamer.”

I feel again like shaking her, like I have felt so many times before, but I only sigh in exasperation. “But this girl _is_ one _._ You’ll just have to scream a bit, but mind you, no words; your accent would betray you. Think of Joffrey if he finds you. That’ll make you scream for a century. Scream!” I order through clenched teeth.

I go near an old saddle and slap it mightily, and it has the satisfying smack of flesh on flesh. The little bird lets out a small scream of surprise, and then as I hit it repeatedly, she gives out more convincing screams. I also add grunts of efforts, and when I think that it has gone long enough, I stop, letting out a whoop of triumph.

“Now you’re singing! Let’s go.”

I move to take her arm but she stops me by tugging at my sleeve. Her upturned face has a worried expression again.

“But the girl... Will she be in danger tomorrow, when they’ll question her?”

I sigh through my teeth and raise my eyes to the ceiling. “ _No,_ ” I snicker, imitating her tone. “When they find no bruises on her face, they’ll know that this was a mummer’s farce, that she was a dupe. Reassured now?”

I pick up the torch again and take her to where Stranger is boxed, all ready like I asked and lift her up on him. I lead the horse outside the stables, and as I had anticipated, there’s a small crowd of curious onlookers. They try to see the damage I have wrought on her and they manage to catch of glimpse of it before she hangs her head dejectedly. They look at me with new horror; now I’ve started to beat helpless wenches. I scowl at them and mount behind her, taking hold of the reins with one arm and with the other holding her safely to me.  Stranger, who’s starting to get nervous by these people crowding us, dances around and neighs loudly.

“I’ve found information! Now, out of the way!”

I charge through them and they scatter like frightened sheep. I guide Stranger and let him have his way, galloping at top speed to the gate. _We don’t have much time to spare. My men will be busy for some time searching through the woods, and when they realise that I’m not coming, they won’t understand at first, but will regroup soon enough, get the King and then things will start to heat up._

I slow down as we come near the gate, and the little bird squirms under my arm. I lower down my head to whisper in her ear.

“We’re almost there. As I speak to the guard, I want you to sob, cry a bit. _That_ shouldn’t be hard for you to do, should it?”

I feel her stiffen, and I realise that I’ve her hurt again. I always manage to do it, even when I don’t want to, being the surly savage dog that I am. _She’s not a screamer, but is she a crier_! I’ve never met someone who cried so much; crying in the hallways, at court, in the godswood, like an everlasting fountain of tears.

We stop at the guard’s tower, and the guard advances on us, all inflated by his important role. He sneers when he sees her bruised face. She sobs like a kitten.

“Did quite a job on her, eh Hound? Then he squints suspiciously. “Why bring her though?”

“Because I’ll use her as bait,” I answer in a flat, bored tone. “I’m pretty sure where the lady is hiding, so I’ll threaten to kill this girl to draw her out.”

“Good plan. The King will be happy.”

“If you want so much to keep the King happy, then stop making me waste time and let me pass, you fucking fool. Or I’ll deal with you myself on my return.”

He pales a bit and moves, opening the door to the gate. Then off we are.

The full moon is going down in the sky; but is enough to light up the way. I follow the road up to a crossroad, which is far enough from both the castle and the Kingswood, and veer abruptly to the left. I don’t like how his has lengthened the distance to my destination but I had no choice if I didn’t want to arouse suspicions at the gate. _Now we have to ride halfway around the city._

Sansa Stark, still being in a sullen mood, has remained silent until she suddenly asks me to stop. I ignore her, and she repeats it in such an imperious tone that I stop, conditioned as I am to obey the highborn. But I’m very unhappy about it, feeling my tension mount to a breaking point. I get off the horse and help her dismount, scowling at her.

“What is it now? Don’t you realize that speed is crucial?” I’m speaking through clenched teeth again and she looks up at me, her features set in a determined expression.

“I have something important to tell you.”

“This is no time for words! Come now.”

She opens her mouth to speak, and I shush her in an abrupt gesture. I listen to the stillness, for a sound of hoof beats, some voices, and while I can hear only the wind through the leaves, I feel the hackles rising on my skin. Something feels wrong somehow, and I start to breathe faster like a tracked beast. Then it hits me suddenly, and my blood boils in a black fury. I bend down and shake her hard.

 “I understand now why you wanted to stop! You told a most awful tale to move me, and I felt for it like a fool! You’ve led me into an ambush!” I hate to hear the sound of the pain that is cracking my voice.

“What? Stop it!”

“Yes, this is it! You made a deal with the King, asking for your freedom in exchange for rooting out a traitor and giving me to him, my head on a spike!”

“What are you saying?” She looks genuinely bewildered, her eyes luminous and clear. She puts a hand gently on my arm, but I fling it back angrily. “You saw yourself how the knights were running after me. I didn’t even know today that I would escape! How could I know of your plan, of which path you would take? I don’t even know where we’re going! And I would never make a ‘deal’ with the King,” she adds disdainfully as if it were the most contemptible thing to do in the word.

What she says makes sense, and reason slowly cools down my anger. Now, I’m starting to feel like a fool again, but I still want to hold on to my anger, feeling more comfortable with it and my mistrust. I blow out a breath and ask her more calmly “Then why did you want to stop?”

“Because I was realising that it was selfish of me to involve you in this, and I thought that if you went back now, you wouldn’t be late in joining the others, and you wouldn’t be in danger.”

That concern again... _It’s a wonder this girl is still alive, thinking like this._

“Me in danger?” I scoff it off.  “Don’t make me laugh. I don’t see you lasting five minutes by yourself out here, much less trying to _protect_ me.  Where would you go? Didn’t think of that, did you? And I too want to leave this place.”

“Why?”

“This is not the time to explain.” I look deep in her eyes, still bristling. “Now, I’ll protect you and keep you safe. But if I ever find out that you’ve lied to me, I’ll kill you!”

She hasn’t looked afraid as I’ve said this, and I wonder at this. Why? I know that I haven’t _changed._ I don’t understand it. And for the first time, she has looked at me in the face without flinching. _How can that be?_ Is the thought of Joffrey wanting to force his way into her bed even scarier that the sight of my scarred face?

She doesn’t seem to sense or suspect that I will certainly _kill her_ if we are found because of her deceit; partly through rage at having being betrayed by her, partly to protect her from the increasingly bad ways that Joffrey will treat her if she ever gets under his power again. _The gift of mercy..._

Deal or no deal, he’s still a cruel spoiled boy who will want to play with his favourite toy until he breaks it.  A part of me can understand her making desperate deals with the king; her life since the execution of her father having been awful enough. But I’m starting to believe less and less in her duplicity. She’s always been an innocent and idealistic young girl, as I’ve _reproached her often enough;_ her real feelings always shining through her badly told lies, and she’s incapable of intrigue.

As for my life, I don’t care, as long as I kill as many as I can before I go down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third Part of the Escape

** CHAPTER III **

**Sandor**

As we approach the harbor, I spy a man on a horse at the back of a low building. He turns his head swiftly at the sound of the hoof beats, and I recognise my other ally, to whom I had spoken to while searching the castle; somebody that I had almost no contact with in the daily life of the castle, but who felt grateful too. While he’s one who knows the way out of the dungeons and the city walls, this was not good for my plan. I had wanted to leave in a legitimate way as to create no alerts. And he’s unimportant enough so will probably be ignored in the questioning that will follow the lady’s disappearance and mine. I signal him to stay still, and we join him. He breathes a sigh of relief, recognising both Stranger and me.

“Am I glad to see you! You made good time. No difficulties getting away?”

“No, I killed them all.” He blanches at this, and it makes me chuckle. “Just a jest, friend; what happened with your part? How did it go?”

 “I have spoken to Thoren. He’s agreed to take you on and is waiting for you.”

“Good. You can go now.” I dismount from my horse and lift her off him. Then I tear off my white cloak, take out a spare bloody knife and hand them to him. “Roll the cloak in dirt and grass, and when you’re in the Kingswood, drop it on the ground with the knife. You lead back my horse there too, and sneak your way back in the Keep.”

“Aye. Good luck to you.”

I watch him as he rides away with Stranger following, and I feel a wrench as I see them disappear quickly in the murkiness. _That was a good horse, the best that I’ve ever had._ As I gaze at the sky, I can see faint signs of light, of the coming dawn. The cool breeze has a cleansing effect on my face.

Sansa Stark, after being quiet for so long  - probably being too polite to dare interrupt us until we were finished - is showing signs of agitation and I look down at her. She’s frowning.

“Why are we here?”

I point at one of the big docked ships not far away. “You see that big brown ship? We’ll get on her soon.”

“Going where?”

“To the east, across the Narrow Sea.”

She looks shocked. “What? But I don’t want to go there!”

“I don’t care. There’s no time left now for arguing. Dawn is coming soon, and the harbor will fill with people. We can’t be seen. And I’m sick of your protests and interferences! “

Before she has the time to protest more or move, I lift her on my shoulder like a sack, and take long strides in the direction of Thoren’s ship, feeling like the ground is burning the soles of my boots. Never have a few strides taken so long before I spy a tall thickset man with a grey beard standing on the deck of his ship. _Thoren..._ I climb the ladder and jump on the deck with my burden. He directs me immediately inside the cabin on the right, and I let her slide standing on the floor inside.

Thoren has watched this with a half smile full of curiosity, his head cocked to the side.

“You’ve brought me a prize now?”

“No. This is _my_ prize _._ Are we ready to go now?”

“We can. I was just waiting for you. That’s the time I usually leave.”

He leaves shortly outside to gather the crew and shouts orders for departure. Having done that, he comes back in the cabin, and gestures at the seats around a small table. Sansa Stark is coming out of her shock and surprises me by lunging at me and striking me on the chest with a small fist.  Unfortunately for her, her fist bounces without effect on the armor, and she winces in pain. Thoren and I both chuckle.

“Next time when you want to hit me, tell me in advance and I’ll remove the plate. It won’t be so painful for you then.”

I find that I’m enjoying the sight of her being in fury; all that agitation having made the hood slide down to her nose.

 “You never told me that we were going on a ship! I would have liked to know!”

I smirk. “You never asked.”

She jumps on me again, and I turn her around and grab her from behind, one arm encircling her small waist and the other one subduing her flailing arms, bending and holding her tightly against me as she tries to move without effect.

Thoren smiles appreciatively and then turns his gaze to me.

“Nice temper! But now dog, stop tormenting this girl, and let us all sit down.”

She has quieted down, and I release her reluctantly. I had really enjoyed holding her like this, like she was _my captive._ I lower her hood and Thoren gasps when he sees her bruised face. I put up a hand.

“Not my work, friend. Get me a wet cloth and you’ll understand.”

Thoren nods and goes through a side door at the back of the cabin. I turn to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “I know that you’re upset, but as I explain things you’ll understand.” She turns her gaze away from mine, pressing her lips together.

When Thoren returns, I take the cloth and rub it as gently as I can all over her face, revealing once again her fine features. Reaching behind her, I untie the kerchief and unroll it, releasing her hair and letting it spill down her shoulders. At the sight, Thoren gasps again.

“Is it who I think this is? The King’s betrothed? What have you done? There’ll be hell to pay.”

“Then be glad that we’re getting away. Now, we can all sit down and have some wine.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “You’ve complicated my life a lot, I think.”

But I don’t think that he’s really that bothered. Knowing me, he’s trusting that I made a good escape plan. Good naturedly, he goes to rummage in a cupboard, returning with we need, a flagon of wine and three cups. Little bird looks at hers sullenly.

“But I don’t much like wine.”

“Never mind.” My voice is stern. “It will do you good and help you to sleep better.”

Thoren finishes by filling up my cup _. Finally..._ I lift it to my mouth and drink it all at once. It makes him chuckle.

“Always the thirsty old dog, aren’t you? Come, have some more.” He pours another full measure in the cup. “Now, this is all well and good, but I would like to know the tale. You’ve never given me an inkling of this when we met last week.”

“I didn’t know myself. It all happened very fast.”

I turn my gaze to her. She’s sitting stiffly on her bench, her eyes glancing around uneasily. It comes to me that she’s afraid of being in a closed room with us, _two big men,_ thinking maybe that I brought her here for my friend and me to have our fun with her. I put a steadying hand on her arm briefly.

“Little bird, you have nothing to fear here. I’ve not led you into a trap. Thoren is a friend and will not hurt you.”

This seems to reassure her a bit, and I continue to look in her eyes. “I know that leaving Westeros is not what you wanted.”

“I thought that you would bring me back to my mother’s family, even to Winterfell!”

“Don’t you realise the folly of it? Unrest is all over the land, battles happening everywhere and it will get even worse. Can you see us riding north through all these factions fighting, with maybe the King’s gold cloaks on our tails? We would be doomed before we had even started the journey. That’s the price of your freedom, and mine too.”

I can see understanding dawning in her eyes, the knowledge that she probably won’t see her family again. She lowers her head and says in a small voice “I hadn’t thought of it. I’m sorry that I seem ungrateful.”

“Will you stop being sorry! What a waste of time. Like we said earlier, I met Thoren in town last week. We talked, and last night I remembered that he was to sail this morning, and I grasped the opportunity. We have history together, having been comrades in arms. Although he doesn’t fight anymore and is a freighter’s captain, we saved each other’s life so often in the past that I knew he would do me this favor without asking questions first.”

She suddenly looks very tired, all the excitement of the last hours catching up with her, and with the wine doing its work too.  _Little bird has missed her usual bedtime._

I ask her if she wants to go lie down now.

“Yes, please.” she answers in the same small voice, her eyes looking vulnerably at me. _What a child she still is!_

“Well, you’re in luck.” says Baelor. “I have three nice cabins here. This one is mine, and on the upper level there are two small ones connecting to a room like this. One of them belonged in the past to the first officer that I had before the wars. I’ve had a hard time finding a good crew with these wars, and couldn’t afford the time to look for a first officer; business being hard enough with all this turmoil. I’ll talk to you about this later.”

He gets up to show us where the cabins are. We got out and ascend stairs. While they are small, I’m surprised at how nice and clean they are. Each one has a roomy bed, a chest, nightstand and a porthole with curtains, and the sitting room has the same features as his. Opening from another door is a small hallway, with another door revealing a privy. When he lifts the cover to show us the hole, we can see sea waves rippling at the deep bottom of it, and Sansa Stark and I both recoil, finding the sight of this a bit unsettling.  I’ve never been at sea, and I think that she hasn’t either. Let’s hope that we don’t get seasick.

Thoren leaves us. The sun is rising now, and I lean against her cabin’s door, watching her as she looks around, the rays lighting up her copper hair. She glances at me, fearful again and bidding her a good rest, I leave abruptly. She’ll probably go to sleep easier if she knows that I won’t be there to crouch down on her as soon as she lies down.

As I return to Thoren’s cabin, he grins at me.

“What a hardship for you, eh dog, to have a cabin next to this beauty?”

We both laugh at this and sit down again. He gazes at me quizzically.

“I’m surprised though that you came back so fast here, with what you have upstairs in that bed. What’s wrong with you?”

I snap back drily. “She needs to rest, and I want us to talk; you wanted to know the tale.”

“Come now; at least admit that you want this girl to wrap her thighs around your waist. I’ve seen the way that you look at her.”

My fist starts to clench and I slowly put the cup down on the table. I look at Thoren through narrowed eyes, and he raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Thoren, we’ve known each other long, so I hope that I’ll have to say this to you only once. I won’t have her spoken of in this manner She’s a real little lady.“

“But why? You’ve never cared for titles before. You said that they were hollow and false.”

“I’ve made an exception for her.”

He nods and I can feel that he’s disappointed, knowing that things will be different now: no more whoring together and sharing. I relax my fist, resting my hand on the table. Then I ask him if he has somebody on the lookout for pursuing ships.

“Yes, I have, and there’s no sign of any pursuit. And now, I want the tale.”

I tell it all succinctly.

“You planned well, you cunning dog. I don’t think that they’ll be able to figure it out soon.” He sighs, and then goes on. “Even though I’m surprised by what you did, you who have always followed the rules and obeying to the high born, I had felt last week something different in you, like you were becoming unhinged.”

I smile without joy. “Was I? I was tired of being an obedient dog; that life didn’t agree with me anymore. Robert, I could stand. He was a _real_ King. But that vicious pup... I can’t abide watching pain being inflicted for pleasure’s sake.”

My mouth starts to twitch, and I make an effort to stop it. He looks on at me calmly. “So, he mistreated her, his betrothed.”

“That he did. He had her beaten regularly. Not with his own hands though; he used his knights to do it in his place. He liked to watch. Played games of cat and mouse with her all the time too. And there I stood helplessly, watching it all. I tried to protect her, although she never asked for it. Then the pretty boy went too far...”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, then she must have recognized your valour and good qualities.”

I snort dismissively. “Stop this. She agreed because I was the only one able and willing. She had no choice if she wanted to leave.”

We go on to other subjects, spending time reminiscing about the past. We have some more wine and breakfast, which is brought to us by the cabin boy, who _naturally_ startles at my appearance and face.  Afterward, I check up on the little bird, who seems to be resting well, and even though I‘m exhausted by now, I feel too agitated to go to bed. When I come back, Thoren bursts in laughter.

“Dog, you’re tiring me out with all that pacing around. You’re dead on your feet. Everything is well. Go rest now. Time enough after to start to learn your new duties.”

“Well then.”

I get up and leave, ascending the stairs again and entering the quarters, locking the door behind me. I cross the sitting room and go in my chamber, taking care to remove the plated parts of my armor, the mail, straps and weapons as quietly as possible. I hang the belt with the scabbard at the head of the bed, and remove my boots.

I walk silently to her room. _Seven hells! All this tiptoeing around, precaution and care are such hard work, I’m not used to that!_ I squat down near the head of the bed. She doesn’t stir. Her head is resting on her clasped hands, like a child, and in sleep her features have become even more innocent and young.

Exhaustion and being in these new and unfamiliar surroundings has made me feel dazed; the madness and impulsiveness of my actions overwhelms me... She’s the only familiar thing in the cabin; seemingly close yet unreachable to me. All of this creates a lump that chokes my throat and a stinging in my eyes. I lift my arm and extend it to her head, my fingers hovering near her hair, wanting to touch it; but the thought of waking her up from that sweet slumber, of the shock she’ll have upon opening her eyes to the sight of my face stops my hand in mid movement, and I lower it back to my side.

The movement breaks the spell. I sigh and get up, leaving the room quietly. My own bed welcomes me, and as I let my head rest on the pillow, I feel all the tension loosening from my muscles, my limbs; I let the rocking movements of the waves lull me, and as I drift off, I feel a great sense of calm claim me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is given her voice on this chapter.

** Chapter IV **

**Sansa’s Journal**

I wake up with a start, the fast thumps of my heart pounding through me. I sit up in the bed and glance wildly around me, not recognizing the familiar features of my chamber at the Keep. The room is small and plain. I’m feeling a strange movement underneath, a rocking like...

Waves... Waves of the sea! Then I remember it all, the terror, running in the halls, the wild gallop on _his_ horse, then this ship. To be sure that this is real, I get up and part the curtains, and there it is: an immense expanse of blue waves with foaming white crests with no shore in sight.

Overwhelmed, I got sit down on the edge of the bed, wondering what time of the day it is. Probably before sundown, as the light has dimmed. I find out that I’m calming down and I take deep breaths, gathering my awakening wits. Then it is true, I’m away from that prison, from the unending fear and pretending!

I remember last night when I was running and trying to escape from the knights being caught suddenly by a hard arm, a big hand on my face stifling me. I had recognized right away the feel of _these_ hands, _having been grabbed by them often enough in the past._ _The Hound!_   In despair, I had thought that this was the end, that I was doomed. Of all the bad luck to have run into that part of the castle that was unknown to me, the part where he _dwelled._ He was the King’s dog, his sworn shield! He would just wait and shout to the coming knights that he had me and deliver me to his master.

But that hadn’t happened... Instead, he had hidden me in his room and had offered to help me, and the unexpectedness of this had paralysed me and I couldn’t think anymore. I didn’t understand why he would do this and had felt cornered by finding myself having to choose between two of the men that I feared the most.

I had been terrified of him from the first. The burned side of his face was hideous enough to look at, but if he had had a gentler manner about him, I could have gotten accustomed to it; but for it to be paired with these angry eyes and harsh ways terrified me. He would erupt in rage at the slightest thing, for no reason that I could fathom sometimes. He had a deep raspy voice that sounded weary and older than his years. I remember when he had found me, after my father had been found a traitor, when the world as I had known it had been destroyed forever.

My lord father had wanted both Arya and I to go back to Winterfell on a ship, and I hadn’t wanted to go or to hear the urgency of his wish. I hadn’t known then that it would be the last time that I would be with him.  Later, the keep had been overrun by guards searching, and my septa had told me to run from my room, that they were looking for us. _Why?_

I had desperately run then, only to be stopped in my tracts when I spied a tall figure in a dark cloak turning the corner of the hall in my direction. My heart had jumped in my throat as I had recognized the Hound.  When he had seen me, he had paused, a cold expression of triumph spreading on his face. Then he had approached, walking deliberately slower, almost strutting, like a predator so confident that he’ll catch his prey that he can take his time stalking it.  That had chilled me. I had told me to stay away from me, that I would tell the queen, and he had laughed mockingly. As I had retreated from him, he had continued to advance on me until I was cornered, and I felt overwhelmed by his height and the way his powerful body cut off my vision of everything except his big plated chest.

He had been sent by the queen, he’s said, and would take me to her. _I didn’t want that, as I knew that she had become my enemy then!_ I had started to walk meekly enough beside him, but when I thought that he was looking elsewhere I had taken off and ran as fast as I could. That hadn’t lasted long: in a few strides he had caught me from behind, his arms holding my middle and arms beneath a steel vise, and he had kept me trapped like this until I was too tired to struggle. Then I had felt a warm breath on my ear, a voice whispering in a surprisingly gentle tone.

“It’s too late, pretty bird. Just be thankful that it was me who caught you. The others wouldn’t have been so gentle.”

Gentle, him? I was shocked that he would dare to speak like this of knights, this big uncouth warrior. Knights were there to protect us! Of course, that was before I learned the true nature of knights. 

His behavior toward me had softened somehow when the King started to behave cruelly toward me; some kind gestures and words, like he had cared for my welfare. It was he who had given me his cloak to cover myself when Ser Meryn had torn my clothes on the King’s order.  He always seemed to be there to save me every time that I was in distress. I had started to believe that the Hound was trying to help me, and this had comforted me, but when I encountered him alone in the Keep’s hallways, he had often spoken to me in contempt, shouting at me; behaving like he hated me. Then I thought that I had probably imagined these acts of kindness.

On my last encounter with him at King’s Landing on the rooftop, I hadn’t understood why he had sounded oddly _disappointed_ when he had realised that he still scared me. How could he not scare me?

Now I wonder again why he had wanted to leave too. He hadn’t answered when I had asked him, even though he had implied that he would later. I doubted that he _would_ ever tell me. When I asked him a question, he would behave like I was trying his patience to the extreme or didn’t even deign to answer me at all. He certainly didn’t need _me_ to escape; for him it was easy, he could just mount his horse and go out by a gate any time that he wanted to, without being asked a question. _He had the white cloak and the King’s trust._

Folly as it was, I had accepted his offer. I had kept telling myself that I must have lost my mind to do this; at the same time I knew that I couldn’t endure the situation at the Red Keep anymore.  And what other options did I have? I was tired of waiting for ser Dontos to help me escape. My father was dead, my brother and mother on the field of battle; the queen’s brother was held hostage by my mother, and nobody wanted to release Jaime or I.  Arya had vanished and all that was left at Winterfell were my younger brothers.

I had been scared at first, alone with him and the captain in that room, but he had managed to quiet a part of my fears. When he had leaned against the doorway of my room, the fear had returned; I remembered how he had leered at me on the Serpentine steps, after he had caught me returning from the meeting with ser Dontos in the godswood.  I had wanted badly to cover the front of my body with my cloak, but I had resisted the urge to do it, as he would have realised how uncomfortable I was and would have laughed knowingly.

But today I couldn’t read the expression on his face at all and he had just left right away. The last of my tension had left, and I had fallen in a deep sleep as soon as I had rested my head on the pillow.

Now, what will happen in this foreign land, these Free Cities? I’ll be in exile, stripped of everything; while I was a hostage and prisoner at the Keep, at least I still had my rank and my personal things: now I have nothing. The thought of it creates a deep hollow of despair in me.

But I have to admit to myself though that I had not been completely truthful with the Hound when I had claimed that I wanted to be back in Winterfell. Throughout my life there, I had felt stifled by the grey walls of the castle, the isolation, hungry for the few visitors who would bring excitement and distractions. I had longed to go in the South, watch the great deeds of the knights, the jousts; see the songs come to life, be in glittering company, visit a big city like King’s Landing.

Now, without most of my family being there, it doesn’t feel safe anymore. I wonder if I will ever feel at home again someplace.

An urgent need to relieve myself brings me out of my thoughts. While I am in this strange privy, I spy a bucket of water, some soap and clean cloths, and I try to wash myself as best as I can with these. It feels good; as I feel that I have cleaned away a layer from King’s Landing.

When I come back to the common sitting room, I notice a plate of bread and cheese, a jar of water and a cup on the table.  The thoughtful gesture comforts me, warming the cold hollow in me and bringing me some hope.

I sit down and drink thirstily from the cup, and then a realisation hits me. I had tried to escape in King’s landing from all that I had feared by avoiding, pretending, being compliant. I’ve finally escaped from there, and now that I’m here, as much as this new situation feels unsettling and scary again, there’s no place to escape anymore. I’ve reached the end; I cannot run from my fears anymore. I don’t know how to do that, I’m so craven!

I have to reflect some more as I eat; I have to find a new way of doing things, maybe appealing to the better part of his nature, _if he has one._ The Hound has risked his very life to help me; that must count for something... 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the sea journey and a bloody fight on the ship!

** Chapter V **

**Sandor**

It seems like she will never wake up. The hours pass and she doesn’t rise. I think that maybe all of this has been too much for her fragile nature, but I chide myself for these foolish thoughts. _She’s tougher than you think; how else could she have managed to survive these two years of hell?_ After supper, I have the cabin boy to leave her something cold to eat and a waterskin.

After three hours of rest, I had spent time with the captain, and among other things, he had brought up the subject of the crew again.

“Like I said before, I’m very unhappy with my crew this time. So many went off to join some heir or pretender to the throne, and I’m left with thieves and bandits up to no good. In a way, you’re doing me a favor too by being there, as I’ll have my hands full. I couldn’t hope for a better man than you to keep them in line.”

“But I don’t know anything about sailing and such. Won’t be much of a help to you.”

He smiled craftily. “But you’ll learn, old dog. You were always quick on your feet and a good observer. However, my first need of you will be the discipline.”

“Will I have full leeway with it?”

“Aye.  And when we get to our destination, I’ll need you to hire some new hands. Also, I can’t guarantee the safety of the lady with that bunch of mean dogs.”

“And I’m the meanest of them. It’s my concern, captain. I’ll start now.”

As I stride on the deck later on, I’ve learned a lot about ships. The sun is going down, with stripes of red and orange tones drowning in the ocean’s horizon. _Like her hair..._

Having only wavy water all around us gives me a strange feeling. There’s still a good breeze, and it’s warm, warmer than I thought it would be at sea...I look around at the men working on different chores, and some shrink back when I get nearer, while some, really grungy looking bastards, stare boldly, trying to get my measure. Nothing will happen now of course; it’s like the deceptive calm before a storm, gathering forces for the battle of winds and water. It will build up and soon, some kind of attempt will come. I look forward to it.

I see her at the bow, leaning against the railing, her long hair lifted from her face by the wind. Her profile has a dreamy serene expression, her face upturned as if she was giving it to the elements. I don’t move, as I know she’ll lose the peace when I come closer and she sees me. She must have sensed my presence though, as she turns around and smiles.  _I startle._ The pure joy of it and the golden light give a rosy tint to her skin, and I find my steps faltering. I’ve not seen her smile for such a long time, and now, not only is she looking at me in the face, _she smiles at me!_ She never did. This makes me feel out of turn, and to regain my composure I scowl at her.

“Never lean against the railing! It’s dangerous. Get back now!”

“Oh...” She looks contrite and steps back, having lost that smile. But then it appears again like a ghost on her lips and she looks up at me. “When I woke up, I thought that everything had been a dream, but when I realised that this was not my chamber, but a cabin at sea, I felt free!

“Not bothered from the roll of the waves?”

“No, I feel well. I love the breeze and the warmth. I never thought that being on a ship would be like this.  And for you?”

“It seems to agree with me.” My mouth twitches. “I’m surprised though that you slept so well. Were you not afraid?” I laugh bitterly.

The liveliness on her face leaves, replaced by the blank and distant expression that she had worn most of the time at King’s Landing. She doesn’t reply and turns back her head to gaze once again at the sky. That irritates me and brings back the anger.

I spy a rough looking bench and point at it. “Come here,” I order and she obeys, sitting down at the deep end n _aturally..._ This spites me more, and I sit deliberately closer to her; there’s no room for her to back off. She doesn’t look comfortable at all and lowers her head. She remains silent, and I can feel her gathering up her courage for something; then she looks up at me.

“I have always been afraid of you. You were right about that. I still am. But in these years at the Keep, while you were often hateful to me, I came to believe that you wouldn’t let harm come to me.”

My gaze transfixes on her. As I feel my heart starting to pound, my guard comes up and my mouth turns hard.

“Maybe you were wise about fearing me. What makes you think that _I_ won’t harm you?”

I lean down and while her face loses some colour, she keeps looking at me with determination.

“I had time to reflect on some things. I remembered the riot, when you saved me from the three men. After killing them, you could easily have... have done the same thing that they wanted to do to me, and killed me too; you could have claimed to have found me like that, and nobody would have known that you had done it. But you _didn’t._ You brought me back safe to the castle. At the Keep, you could have hurt me, and who would have believed me? I had nobody to protect me... except you.”

 _So unexpected..._ While I had wished for these words, hearing them now feels very unsettling, turning my world upside down. Instinctively, I mistrust this.

She continues “So, I wanted to ... to thank you for today.” Colour flushes her cheeks and she lowers her gaze down. “For not taking advantage of me. This was very gallant of you.”

I snort in contempt. “Foolish little bird, seeing me now as a gallant knight like in the songs; still covering everything in pretty words and meaningless courtesy without understanding anything.”

“No!” She raises her head and looks at me defiantly. “I don’t believe in the songs and knights the same way I did before, but I still believe in some things. And courtesy is not meaningless; I was brought up to have good manners; it shows concern and consideration to others. This won’t change. This is what I am, so I ask you to stop scolding me about it _, ser_.“

She looks so solemn and full of dignity that I cannot help but chuckle. “I’ll try if you stop calling me that. I’m no _ser,_ as I’ve said many times, and even less now that I’ve ditched the cloak.”

“What do you want me to call you then?”

“I don’t care, as long as it’s not _ser or lord._ ”

“Well, I certainly won’t call you dog or Hound, Sandor.”

It’s been a while since I’ve been called by my first name, the name of my childhood; I’ve been the Hound for such a long time now and while it takes me back to a time that I would prefer to forget, I like the soft inflection that it has on her voice. Before I have time to stop myself, I blurt out “I... shouldn’t have had these suspicions about you last night.”

She inclines her head graciously. “Thank you. I can understand you being mistrustful about my intent. All the plotting and intrigues at that court, all these lies, making people appear not as they seem.”

Something soft shines from her eyes: gratefulness and _that damned innocence again._   I move uncomfortably on the bench and to give me something to do, I remove her jewelry pouch from a pocket and give it to her. She gasps in surprise.

“My jewels! How did you get them?”

“Your room was searched thoroughly. When we finished, I stayed behind and pocketed them.”

“Thank you so much!” Her face is glowing with joy; then she sighs. “I could keep a few pieces and give you the rest, as a token of my gratitude. Take those that you want.”

She extends the pouch to me. This makes me so angry that I almost slap it away. I let out a growl and she shrinks further away on the bench. “I don’t need your jewels or any _token_ from you! Maybe you think that I have nothing now that I’ve left my post behind? Well, you’re wrong. I have money of my own.”

An expression of puzzlement crosses her face. “How can that be?”

“ _How can that be_?” I repeat mockingly. “Did you think that only the highborn have money or wealth?”

She blushes at that. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean any insult...”

“Stop that!” I bite back. “You make me dizzy with your _courtesy._ I‘ve worked for the Lannister House since I was twelve years old. They’re rich and pay well.  I also have won many fat purses in tournaments. I have accumulated gold for a long time. I invested it with a Free City bank, the same one that comes once a year for a visit with the council. Since then I’ve given them some more on each visit. And it has grown.”

She looks impressed enough, and an expression of wonderment fills her eyes. ”I never knew of those things.” she says. But then her expression changes and a frown appears on her smooth forehead. “But... I remember you saying that you didn’t care for titles, lands or gold.”

I laugh again. “Well, _I_ _lied_. I still don’t care for titles and such. I only did it so that someday, if I wanted to be my own dog, I could. Even a savage chained dog thinks about freedom sometimes.”

She looks totally bewildered now, her mouth opened in a round shape. _Well, that’s a new lesson for you, little bird. Everybody can lie, even those that claim that they are honest and that they hate liars. And I lied for you too, remember?_

Then she looks disappointed, like she’s been betrayed. She should have known better than to take literally what a person says and believe every word. _What a child she is..._ I feel my jaw setting.

“You should be happy now, instead of pulling a long face. You won’t have to worry about being _poor._ You’ll do well with me. I have enough money to keep you in the way that you’re accustomed to.”

She gasps at this and gets up abruptly from the bench, looking at me with red cheeks and a fury making her small bosom heave.

“How dare you! I won’t be a kept mistress or consort, Sandor Clegane! You forget yourself!”she exclaims indignantly.

The anger creeps on my face like a hot breeze, and I get up too, poking a hard finger at her shoulder. “You’re hardly my mistress, aren’t you now? And you’ve been kept all of your life by someone: your father, the Lannisters and Baratheons. From where do you think all the gowns, jewels and food came from? From money!”

“It’s not the same!”

”You know nothing! So go sell your jewels at the next harbor and be on your way then! You’ll see how long you last with only your fucking pride, _my lady,_ and when you need rescuing again, I won’t be there!”

She blanches at the curse word. “You, you’re such a foul mouthed brute! A barbarian!”

“ _This is what I am_.” I mimic derisively. “So get used to it.”

I grasp her arm and point at the cabins, snarling now. “Now, enough! Go in the cabin immediately, and there will be hell to pay if I see you go outside alone on the deck again. NOW!”

She pushes at my hand and can’t escape fast enough from me. She literally runs, and I’m sure that once she gets in the room that she’ll fling herself on the bed and sob her little heart out. _Well, let her, I don’t care._ I’m too angry at her, at the haughty way that she’s treated me; _the highborn lady._ What use will her title and rank be in strange land where nobody knows her family?

I hear some sniggers coming from behind me, and when I turn around furiously, they stop immediately and I only see men with seemingly innocent faces. _Well, you’ll get your due too; you bunch of fucking miserable rats._

The next days pass without incident. I’m keeping busy with learning about the ship and its workings. I have followed the captain, keeping at his side, observing and learning. I’ve settled already a few disputes between the men, and I can feel the resentment in some of them building up against me. _Good. I can’t wait for one of them to start something._

The lady has kept her distance from me, giving me the silent treatment and only saying the necessary words for basic communication, always in the _most polite way_ , of course. Everything time that she seems me, she gets that haughty look on her face, her bearing full of poise and her gaze looking at a far point beyond me, her pretty nose up in the air _._

This puzzles me, this sulking. I’m more used to dealing with men, to the way we can say what’s on our minds without having the worry of stepping on some _delicate_ feelings. Her behavior somehow amuses me, and in a strange way moves me, as her dignity and breeding are the only things that she has left to protect her very real vulnerability.

In the late afternoon, as I come near the cabins, I spy her sitting down on the top of the stairway. It’s not the first time that it has happened, as I’ve caught sight of her perching there on several occasions, gazing at the horizon and the activities on the ship.  Although this is a restricted area for the crew, I still don’t like her to be there in full view of the men, but I can’t bear to order her shut in the cabin all day, so I haven’t said anything in spite of my misgivings.

She gets up as she sees me and joins me at the bottom of the stairs. I raise my eyebrows questioningly at her. She hesitates, biting her bottom lip, then lowers her head and when she gazes at me again, I can see what it’s costing her pride to have to ask me for anything.

“It’s just that I wanted... If it’s not too much bother for you, I’d like to have a tour of the ship, a visit.” Then she sighs with relief at having said it.

I frown at her in puzzlement. “A visit of the ship? What is there to visit? If you want to walk around on the deck, I can take you.”

“No. I meant visit the lower level, down these stairs.”

I shake my head in exasperated disbelief. “Of all the foolish things! This is the last place that you’d want to see!”

“But why?” She looks more bewildered.

I lower my head very close to her face and put my hands on her shoulders. My mouth is twitching as I speak. “I’d have a mind to take you there to teach you about reality, you ignorant little fool. But it’s too dangerous. Don’t you know anything? That level is called the hold. It’s where the cargo and animals are and the crew bunks there too. It smells like shit down there, but I’m sure that the men would love to have you visit. Still want to go?”

She pushes at my hands and I let her go. A deep flush of humiliation has covered her pale skin and tears are starting to escape from her eyes. She turns her head away and sniffles, her chin trembling. _Oh no, not again!_ I gnash my teeth in frustration. _Of course she didn’t know, you bloody oaf!_ Why do I never remember how sheltered a life she has led as a highborn girl in that godforsaken castle of hers? And also being a prisoner at the Keep, and now here... That’s quite a lot of cages for a bird.

She turns to go up the stairs but I grab her wrist.

“Never mind that, little bird. At least you had the sense to ask me before you tried it on your own. Come now.”

“No!”

“But Thoren has told me that he wants to show you things that might interest you.” There I am, coaxing her in the tone a voice that is used for children, but it works. Her face has lit up, and as I steer her in the direction of Thoren’s cabin, she follows slowly but willingly enough.

We’ve been having supper at the captain’s quarters since the beginning, and I think that these moments have been enjoyable for her too. Thoren is a good storyteller, full of incredible tales about his travels, and _he’s_ always in a good mood.

After the cabin boy has brought our meal from the galley, I spy something different on the table; a small round vessel, with a curved spout and a little cover with a rounded piece welded at the top. It’s in dark grey cast iron, lavishly decorated with raised curlicues on its surface. Steam is coming out of the spout.

“What is this?” I’ve never seen something like it.

“It’s a container for a special beverage. It’s for the lady to try.”

He smiles at Sansa, pouring hot amber liquid in her cup and offering it to her. “Be careful though, it’s very hot.”

Taking it gingerly in her two hands, she breathes in first, an expression of delight lighting up her features, and takes a careful sip, and then another. “This is so good, captain! What is it?”

Thoren is beaming with pleasure. “It’s called tea, my lady. Very common in the East, with many different blends to choose from. This one is a mix of herbs and spices, brewed in boiling water.”

“Oh! Thank you so much captain.”

She gives him one of her rare smiles and I can see that it has an effect on him too. He’s grinning like a fool and I feel resentful because he was the one able to illicit the smile from her, while I had stubbornly pushed the sour red wine at her every night even though she didn’t enjoy it. Raising a questioning eyebrow at her, I extend my hand to grab her cup and she nods politely. I take the cup and gulp the rest of it in a single swallow, grimacing at the taste of it.

“Gods! This tastes fucking bitter, like a healer’s potion. Well, you keep it all to yourself, _my lady._ I’ll stick to the wine.”

When we are finished, she wonders about what we do after I take her upstairs. I shrug.

“We gamble and drink. What else is there to do on a ship? Want to try?”

Thoren’s eyes go round at my offer, but Sansa declines politely, as if I had been offering something suitable to do, like needlework. Somehow I feel like having been put in my place again.

The cabin boy comes to take our dishes away, and then Thoren gets up, rummages through a drawer and brings back books and maps on the table, in front of her. These are beautiful detailed maps of different areas of the world, and the books about ships, of course.

“These may intrigue you. You can settle on that sofa, near the lamp, while we play.”

I’ve seen a spot of red appear on her cheeks for a moment while cradling the books about ships. Well, now _she’ll learn_ something. The she settles contently on the divan, absorbed in them and drinking that tea of hers. We settle for the games, goading each other, sharing insults and whooping. Once in a while she looks up curiously, watching the progression of the play, keeping her poise throughout all the swearing. She doesn’t even blink at it and I’m puzzled at this; she had been so incensed days ago at my _foul_ language. _I’ll never understand this girl._

And it feels strange having her there with us. It’s so different from what I’ve known; yes there were women present while we sometimes played in a room reserved for gambling at the brothel, but these were whores and I would have a naked one sitting on my knee. No little ladies reading were ever there. And although we drink all night, I drink a lot less than before, strangely not feeling the need for more.

This life is so new that I often feel like I’m walking in a dream and will wake up as usual in my room at the Keep. It’s so much simpler with no intrigues, no highborns to give orders to me, no more of these fucking knights; I just have to obey the captain. No more _falsehoods._ These sailors have neither time nor the inclination to try to be anything than what they are: a bunch of brutes and hard men who love the sea. The anger that I’ve felt for so long doesn’t flare up as often as before, and while it’s still there, it is quieter.

Then one morning I get up with a sense of unease similar to the one that I had on the day of the escape. This time I’m not questioning it or gnawing at it. _Look what happened at the end of that day..._ I trust it and try to be prepared for anything...

It doesn’t take all day like the other time. As I’m looking on the trimming of the sails, I hear a faint scream from the foremast, almost lost in the groans and moans of the moving ship. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I move fast in the direction of the sound. I hear it again, stronger and clearer this time, recognizing a certain very feminine, very familiar voice _calling my name._

 _Sansa!_ This galvanises me and I run as fast as I can to the distant spot, where I spy two figures struggling near the stairs to the hold: one, an ugly tall skinny brute, the worst that I had sensed in the lot, trying to drag down a terrified and struggling copper haired girl down these stairs to the hold that she had wanted so much _to visit._

If I had been the only one getting there, I would have wrenched him off easily from her, but unfortunately, the screams have attracted the attention of others too, whose footsteps I hear pounding behind me.

The commotion spooks the man dragging Sansa, making him change his intent. In a fast moment, he snakes an arm around her and points a knife at her throat.

That stops me dead in my tracts, and so it does to the others behind me. In that eternity of a moment where everybody is immobilised in their stances, I feel my heart hammer and a stab of guilt pierces my belly. _Seven Hells, that’s not what I meant when I wished for a fight or an attack. I wanted somebody to try to attack me, not her!_

Then movement resumes. The lady is panting and whimpering, her eyes rounded in terror, while the arm that points at her throat is trembling, his crazed eyes bugging out of their orbits. _Not good, not good, a madman._ I can feel the waves of instability rising off him like steam from boiling water.

“Don’t go any further, dog! Don’t you or any of the others come any closer, or I’ll kill her!”

He’s yelling so hard that the cords on his taut neck stand out. I turn around swiftly, facing the small crowd of men.

“Stand back, do you hear? Stand BACK!”

My face must have looked crazed too, as they almost trip on top of one another in their haste to backtrack. I spot the young black skinned one that looks like a bit better than the rest of them, and beckon at him.

“You, come here. Now! Stand beside me.”

He comes reluctantly at first, but becomes surer footed after a few steps. _Good, he has some courage._ I signal him next to me, and then turn around, my knees slightly bent, a growl in my throat. The madman laughs hysterically at this.

“You chose the black pup! Pity you, needing his help!”

“Let the girl go and fight me like a real man, you piece of shit!” I’m snarling now.

“Oh no! I’ve got your little prize now and won’t let it go! You should have guarded her better! Go on about your business, and maybe I won’t kill her.“

“In hell I will.”

“Before you go, remove your weapons and let them drop on the deck, gently now. DO IT!”

He slides the edge of the knife against her skin, drawing blood. She sobs. I growl with pure hatred. Every muscle in my being is urging me to jump on him right now, but I know that I’ll never be fast enough to stop him from slitting her throat. I have to stay calm and keep my mind clear, as I feel that this situation will explode in a few moments anyway and all will be lost if I don’t keep control of myself.

I unsheathe the dagger slowly, showing it to him and dropping it on the deck, giving it a kick so it slides away from me, then I do the same with both my sword and longsword.  I let my arms rest easily against my side, and watch his eyes. It’s where I learned to look to find out the moment when an opponent would decide to act, whatever decision he had chosen. Something leaps in them, and I stomp my boot heavily on my young’s companion foot. He let out a mighty yell of pain, and this distracts the madman’s attention for a second, loosening his hold on the knife. _A little second is all I need._ In a flashI whip out my hidden knife and hurl it at him, right in the spot between his eyes, where the blade buries itself in a satisfyingly cracking wet sound. His hand opens, his knife clattering on the deck and he drops like a sack of stones, unfortunately dragging Sansa in his fall with him.

I’m immediately besides her, getting on my knees and dragging her away from his carcass. She’s sobbing hard now. I signal to the black one to come and stay at her side. As I get up again, I lift the dead man at the top of my arms and throw him in the waiting crowd, which recoils amusingly in panic. The blood lust goes to my head and I laugh wildly. The men are paralyzed on the deck; their eyes wide open with shock.

“Now, is there anyone else who would like to take my prize from me? No? Anyone else tries, I’ll come to him while he sleeps and rip his fucking eyes out.”

The captain chooses this moment to appear. I’m glad that he didn’t interfere, as this would have weakened my position considerably. He swaggers to my side, face split into a big grin, and claps my back.

“Well, well, it seems that there was a little excitement, eh? Be warned the lot of you to leave this girl alone. The dog has spoken. Now, back to work, enough time has been lost! And get rid of that corpse!”

The men scatter back to their position, and the black one, in spite of the pain I’ve inflicted on him looks at me in awe. I bend down to retrieve my weapons on the deck, and I hear a something splash in the water. _Good riddance._ I get up and walk in the direction of Sansa, squat down lift her on my shoulder and carry her back to our cabin, dropping her gently on the divan. She stills breathes rapidly, but has stopped crying; she seems calmer. I kneel down to check if she has any other cut than the one at her throat. Although the blood lust has left me, I’m still angry, but for a completely different matter, and she must feel it as she shrinks from me, her eyes huge as they stare at me.

“Now you little fool, why didn’t you listen to me and stayed in that damn cabin, like I had bid you?”

“Stop shouting and being rude to me!” she snaps back with a surprising spark of spirit.

“You’re very lucky that it’s only me shouting at you at the moment. That man would have done things a lot worse than my being _rude_ to you. Don’t you know anything?”

Her face crumples and she buries her face on the arm of the divan, sobbing wildly. _Now you did it again dog. But she has to face reality!_ I know that I have to let her spend herself, and go get a clean piece of cloth, tearing it up in two. I soak one with wine and the other with water. Coming back to the sitting room, I find her folded in a miserable huddle in the corner of the divan, looking so small and vulnerable that I feel a lump forming in my throat. I extend a hand to touch her shaking shoulder, but she shrugs it off angrily.

“Leave me alone, you beast ... you _dog_! Go away!”

I sit down heavily next to her, putting a hand on her small back.

 “Now, now little bird. I‘ve the right to be angry, as you put yourself into danger. What if I hadn’t come at the right moment? How can I keep you safe if you don’t follow my biding?”

She turns around, her face wet, and surprising me, buries it in my chest, letting out a few shuddering breaths. I lift her up and cradle her against me like a child.

“I know that this feels like another cage to you, but you’ll have to be patient for a while yet; this won’t last forever, a month or so, until we arrive at Volantis.  Then I’ll buy you something to occupy yourself and some new garments, more suitable than these. We’ll get rid of most of this present crew and hire better men. Even then, it will still be dangerous. This is a freighter, not a passenger ship.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs against my chest. “It was unwise of me to disobey. I only did it to defy you, because I was angry at you.”

I sigh and rest my cheek briefly against the top of her head. “Don’t be sorry girl, just let this be a lesson and do differently next time, whatever you feel. It’s what we soldiers do. We obey despite our feelings, because we trust our leader.”

I straighten her up and use the cloth to wash the tears off her face, and let her blow her nose in it. Then I examine the cut at her throat. Fortunately, it is not deep, but it still pains me to see it. I blot it carefully, and then press the wine soaked cloth on it for a moment. She stiffens at the sting, and realising that she’s sitting on my lap, she blushes and gets off fast to retreat back to her corner. I laugh. She’s struggling hard to regain her composure, and lifts her chin defiantly.

 “It’s just that I’d like to be able to take walks.”

“You can. I only specified not going out _alone._ I can take you outside every day. Is that agreed?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Good. I don’t want to have to kill off all of the crew.”

She lets out a small giggle, and then looks mortified.

“I shouldn’t have laughed! What am I doing?”

“Laugh while you can little bird. You’ve cried enough.”

And for the first time, we both laugh together.

*******

I’ve found out soon enough that his recent attack has had an effect on her, probably bringing back all the bad memories of King’s Landing. She seems more subdued and has refused to take walks on the deck; even not appearing on her usual perch on the stairway. She leaves right after our supper with the captain to retire in her room. She’s got again that overcautious way of moving that she had at King’s Landing, and sometimes I think that I hear sniffs coming from her room.  I can’t undo what has been done and this makes my mood darker. I let the men know it, glowering at them as I make my rounds.

In the third night after the event, I open my eyes, suddenly feeling wide awake. There’s a strange feeling of stillness in the cabin, a deep silence that can only happen after a scream has shattered it. My door is closed.  Alarm springs up in me and I get up right away, hurriedly taking the dagger with me and opening the door cautiously.

Light is flickering in the sitting room from a candle in the wall sconce. I find her sitting huddled on the divan, rocking with her knees brought up under her chin. She startles as she spies me and I approach slowly, sheathing the dagger and stuffing it in a pocket. I squat in front of her as to appear less threatening.

Knowing better than to do something, I let a few moments pass so she can get used to my presence.

“What are you doing there in the middle of the night?” My question has come out sterner than I had wished.

Her eyes are big as she looks up at me and she tightens the grip on her legs.” I... I had a nightmare and couldn’t stay in my room. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

 _Will she ever stop making amends?_ I stifle a sigh of impatience, as this is not what is needed at the moment. I try to use a gentle tone of voice. “I woke up anyway, but it’s not your fault. It’s in my nature; my instincts alert me to the slightest change or sound.”

She looks less tense now and sighs.

“Anybody can have a nightmare; even I.”

“Oh.” She seems amazed at this and it makes a smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

“This man won’t ever try to hurt you again. He’s dead, and the fish have had their feast with him.”

I get up and extend a hand to her. She shrinks back.

“I’m bringing you in my room. Sometimes it’s better not to be alone.”

She swings her head from side to side in a wild refusal, and I take a deep breath. “Girl, you have nothing to fear from me in the chamber. You’re safe with me. I’ll leave the candle burning here.”

I hold out my hand again, and after a few moments of uncertainty, she unfolds finally and takes my hand to help her get up. I lift her up and carry her to my chamber.

I lay her down on the bed and bring the coverings up. I hand the scabbard at the head of the bed on my side, and when I slide in the bed, I feel her stiffen at the closeness. I don’t move for minutes, letting the moment pass, letting her grow accustomed to it. I _do know_ about wild, untamed and scared animals. Then I turn on my side, presenting her my back, so it will feel safer for her.

“Sleep now.”

It takes a while for her to move, and then I feel her come closer; feel small hands and a warm breath against my back. After another long moment, an arm comes to rest on my side, encircling my waist. I don’t dare to move, lest she removes it. From her deep, regular breathing I know that she’s asleep, and I too fall asleep like this, oddly comforted too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some remembrances for Sandor which sour his already bad temper and a little bird starts asserting herself. A meeting with a new alcooholic beverage for Sandor.

** Chapter VI **

**Sandor**

As I gaze at the sunrise, leaning on the railing, I don’t feel as settled as I usually do in the morning.  I enjoy these moments of peace and quiet, when the world seems new, but not today;  for some reason I have woken up in a bad mood from some unpleasant dream that I don’t remember.

I’m remembering when we first came at Winterfell, that bleak, cold and barren place. That was when it happened, when my life started to tip over and the madness awoke in me.

_The trip to Winterfell had been long and arduous, the weather deteriorating and getting colder the further north we progressed. The royal family and the knights had complained all the time about the numerous discomforts of the trip, and when we finally arrived there, everybody as exhausted. Except for King Robert, who was excited at the imminent meeting with his friend Lord Eddard Stark, who he had not seen for eleven years._

_As people gathered in the courtyard, our party facing the Starks, I looked on in disinterest at the King and the queen greeting each member of the Stark House, and my eyes were drawn to this girl. She stood out from the rest of her family, like a burst of colours in the middle more subtle tones. She looked like a northern vision with her long fiery hair, shining like newly minted copper, pale skin and features so pure that they could make the snow melt with tenderness.  I ceased to see the others. I felt a painful twinge in my chest, making my heart thud while my face kept its impassive soldier’s expression. She looked in our direction and smiled at him, my boy prince. He was pretty indeed, with that blonde hair and refined features. He smiled back. She glowed. She was already taken with him! Then she finally saw me; all the colours left her face and she lost the smile. She hastily averted her gaze away. I turned my head, my mouth twitching; my hands felt strangely empty and I clenched them in tight fists at my sides. I vowed that I would make her look at me._

_Just before the trip back to King’s Landing, I took my opportunity when she bumped into ser Illyn in the courtyard. She was standing still before him, clearly terrified by his merciless face and fixed gaze. Coming from behind her, I gripped her slight shoulders firmly. She was trembling like a leaf. When she turned about to see who it was, she startled and shrank back from me. I laughed. Then Joff came, and she brightened like the sun at midday. Joff chased me away, saying that I was frightening his lady, and I had to bow out like an obedient dog._

_On our way back to King’s Landing, I noticed that she did everything to avoid looking in my direction.  While I was more or less used to people behaving like this with me, I couldn’t accept it of her. I had foolishly thought that having been granted the sight of something so beautiful and innocent was a gift, and having been robbed of it immediately made me very angry and bitterer than ever. I knew that I should let go of this but I had fallen under some kind of spell and had already lost all reason._

_After the tournament, while I was escorting her to her chamber, in a fit of fury I stopped suddenly in the field that we were crossing and squatted down in front of her. With the torch held between us, I had forced her to look closely at my face and she had cried. Then I had felt the impulse to tell her of my deepest secret, of where my burns had come from; I had tried to get her to really see me behind the horrendous scars, so she could understand what had made me the way I was, that I wasn’t a monster, but she didn’t understand and gave me pretty, empty words.  I had gotten so angry that I threatened to kill her if she repeated what I had told her._

_When events had turned for the Stark House, Lord Stark being condemned from treachery and executed, she became a hostage and a favourite target for Joffrey’s growing cruelty.  He had forced her to look at her father’s head on a spike, and taunted her cruelly with what he would do to her brother when his armies defeated him. She had reacted with spirit, and Joffrey had ordered ser Meryn to slap her face.  I had to turn my head away, unable to tolerate the sight of it but forced to hear the sound of the hard smacks against that delicate skin. Then, when she had walked resolutely on the walkway toward Joffrey, I had divined her intent and only my swift response had stopped her from pushing him off it._

_Joffrey’s back had been turned, so he hadn’t known what she had tried to do, and I never said anything to him about her attempt on his life, which would have been punishable by death for her. Afterward, my hand had trembled when I blotted the blood off from her cut lip._

_From then on I tried act like a wall between the King and his betrothed to spare her from some of his brutality. I knew that except for his mother the queen that I was the only person having some influence over him and that he trusted me.  I also kept a discrete watch on her, often following her when she wandered alone. I even lied at the tournament on King’s Joffrey’s nameday.  Joffrey, being displeased by that drunkard ser Dontos, had him tortured. Foolish, kind Sansa Stark had wanted it stopped. The King had looked at her with quiet menace, and she probably had said the first thing that had come into her head, saying that “it was bad luck to kill somebody on his nameday.” From the expression of contempt on Joffrey’s face, I knew that he didn’t believe her, and that he would have her pay dearly for the lie. I had immediately replied that she had said the truth, “that what a man sows on his nameday, he reaps all year long.” Joffrey had the torture stopped immediately and I blew out a sigh of relief._

_Afterward, she started secret meetings with Dontos in the godswood; I had figured out that this was probably about a foolish plan for an escape, and I had kept silent about these meetings, not telling my liege about them even after I had caught her returning from one of them._

_Even after that, she was still scared of me and wouldn’t look at me unless I forced her to. She barely tolerated my presence!  And through all of it, she was gentle and sweet to everybody, to all of those who meant her harm - except to me.  Something lost its mooring in me then. I thought fine, as I’m already guilty of it, I’ll give you reasons to be really scared of me. So I spewed out my anger and spite at her whenever we encountered each other alone, intimidating her, acting threateningly, often mocking her good manners, her little girl’s illusions and foolish dreams._

_At the same time, I still couldn’t stand to see harm come to her. I had lost my boundaries with her; when she hurt, I hurt too; I couldn’t tolerate the sight of her pain._

_At the bread riot, nobody had thought of her welfare, forgetting all about her, and as soon as the King was safely in the hands of the kingsguard, the first thought that came into my head was to fight my way through the mob to find her before she fell into their hands.  Upon our return to the Keep, I had worried about the bleeding cut on her head while being careless about my own cuts._

_On our last encounter alone at the Keep, I had spied her wandering again in the halls and had followed her silently. She had walked up the turnpike stairs to the roof, and once up on the rooftop, had started to sway near the edge, and I had grabbed her arm and steadied her, thinking that she had wanted to jump. When I turned her around to face me, she flinched at the sight of my face, lied about fearing me and I had gotten very, very angry and had said deliberately cruel things to her._

_Insidiously, a poison created by these warring feelings started to seep in more and more parts of my life; my distractions becoming stale and being robbed of their usual enjoyments; getting sick to death of the contacts with the knights of the kingsguard; questioning my purpose in serving and protecting a King that I had grown to despise, my decreasing loyalty to him; anticipating with dread the coming war that was to be fought with fire. The weather had been bad too during this autumn; days and days of cold rain wrapped in a grey mist that reflected the state of my mind._

******

Later on in the morning, as I stride on the deck and work at my duties, I feel satisfied at the change in the crew’s attitude toward me. Since the night when I killed off her attacker, the tougher ones look at me with new respect, and the softer ones with fear. While I’m no seasoned sailor yet, I’ve learned fast and I’m able to spot what is needed to be done. My orders are accepted and my questions are answered without resentment. I start to think that the ship will run better from now on.

In the late afternoon, I take out the pretty bird for air, and we walk for a bit around the deck. Nobody looks at her. _Good._ She’s silent and contemplative, looking as always as she is on a journey of her own, and I would really like to get into that head and _know_ her thoughts. The Winterfell and King Landing’s memories have kept shadowing me all day, leaving a taste of burnt ashes in my mouth. As we take a pause on the bench, I look at her with a smirk. It causes her to shrink back from me.

“Although you’re _too polite_ to complain, I’m sure that this journey at sea must be rough for you, with these simple clothes and food, and no servants to fuss around you.”

She looks genuinely surprised. “No, I don’t miss these things. I feel content. Why do you ask?” _Seven Hells,_ _she’s so naive._

“Because I’ve seen the sad look that you sometimes have in your eyes.” Now that I’m nearing to what I want to say, I cannot keep the venom out of my voice. “You must miss the fancy life at court; having regrets now about leaving your beloved King.”

“What?” She looks bewildered. “Why would you say that? You know that I hate him!”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Now I’m starting to growl. “You loved him in the beginning, and still seemed to love him at some moments, being sweet to him and all that.”

“Because that’s what you advised me to do!” Her cheeks are starting to flush hotly. “You told me to give him what he wanted, and I did it! I tried to hide my real feelings from him, obeyed his wishes so he wouldn’t have me beaten and tried to behave lovingly to him.”

“Well, you were pretty convincing. This was no lie. Even I believed it.”

She gets up abruptly and goes to stand in front of me, her small frame shaking from rage. Then she leans down and slaps me hard across the face, shocking me to the core. I can’t move, looking at her while she straightens up with an angry and both sad expression on her face.

“I don’t understand you! Nothing ever seems to satisfy you, nothing is ever good enough for you, however I speak or act. You always twist my words and turn them against me! Why did you help me if you dislike me so? You are always so unpleasant, so unkind, managing to spoil everything... you... you dog!”

I laugh bitterly. “Oh, the little bird is starting to grow claws.”

“I’m not the empty headed little bird that you’ve always accused me of being! Stop calling me that. Birds are not stupid, and I love them.”

I feel a queer twinge of pain near my heart. _So do I._

She moves as if she’s going to leave, and then turns about, her chin trembling. “Do you really want to know why I look sad sometimes? Because I miss my father, my family; I don’t know what’s going to happen to them and I know that I’ll never see them again. That’s why! Are you satisfied now?”

I’m speechless for once, feeling a most unfamiliar urge to want to sink in that bench, feeling lower than the lowest of curs. _Shame..._

“In the future, if you have nothing pleasant to say, I wish that you’ll keep silent.” she adds with dignity.

Then she hurries back to the cabin, her copper hair flying in the breeze, leaving me still rooted to that fucking bench _._ I hear in my head a mocking echo of the king’s voice. _Well done dog, well done!_

After a moment, I spy a pale piece of fabric on the deck. I bend to retrieve it and recognize it as one of the kerchiefs that she uses to cover her head. In her agitation, she lost it and hadn’t realized that it had slipped from her hair. _Neither had I._ I bring it to my face and inhale deeply of it. Then I look at the closed door of our quarters and put it back in a pocket.

I know that tonight there will be no shared meal with the captain. She’ll probably ask the cabin boy to bring her something to eat. And I don’t feel like eating at all.

Feeling out of sorts, I pace on the deck ceaselessly. I’d really like for any of the men to give me a wrong look, to say something that would give me an excuse to shout, to fight; but they know my moods now and give me a wide berth as I come near each one of them where he works. I end up at the bow, leaning against the railing. With only water surrounding our vessel, I feel so confined on this ship. I cannot leave it and go someplace, roaming in city streets, looking for trouble or practicing jousting with straw dummies until my arm has no strength anymore and all my anger has been exhausted.  I’m gazing angrily at the sun that is starting its descent in the sea, staining the waves red.

Red as blood, red as wine... I get two flagons of wine and descend below decks, sitting on the last step of the stairway. Torches have been lighted, bathing in a yellow flickering yellow haze the off duty men who are sitting in little groups on their deck, some playing dice, some just staring off in space, and Booka, the young black skinned one, playing with a strange little instrument that he moves on his lips while he blows thought it. From this come out reedy notes of a haunting nature that suit my mood. I uncork the first flagon and drink from it, swallowing without stop until it becomes lighter.  A great surge of warmth flows though my body, bringing a blessed loosening of my muscles, of relief.

It’s then that I notice the sudden silence. The men have stopped what they were doing and are all looking at me with guarded eyes. I raise a hand.

“Don’t stop on my account. I’m not here on an official capacity. I’m one of yours tonight.”

This puzzles them, as I’ve never done this before, and some of them resume their play. I jerk my head at Booka.

“What is that instrument?”

“A harmonica.”

“Play some more. I like it.”

He starts another piece, and each one that follows gets darker. They could be suited to a foreign burial and I wonder what kind of singing could accompany it. _Wailings in a broken voice..._ I get up from the step and come closer, offering the second flagon of wine. When it is accepted, I sit down on the deck, with my legs bended at the knees and my back leaning against the wall, and continue watching, listening and drinking from the remaining flagon. When it becomes empty, I fling it carelessly overboard.

When Booka hears the splash, he stops playing and looks up at me with a question in his eyes. My teeth clench automatically.

“What?”

“Lord Hound, you look like a man who needs something stronger than wine.”

I sigh impatiently. _Another one who insists on giving me a stupid title._ But I decide not to let this bother me anymore. Why should I fucking care what others want to call me? I know who and what I am.

“Like what? Nothing is stronger than red sour wine.”

“You don’t know everything. Come see.”

Now that is intriguing. I get up, finding that my legs are getting a bit unsteady, and follow him in the hold, having to bend to go through the short doorway. He guides me in the crew quarters, which are separated from the cargo hold by big white sheets of coarse cotton, and goes to rummage in a cupboard. He brings out vessel of some kind of dragon glass with strange colourful markings, and puts it on a table with a small cup. With a flourish, he pours some golden brown liquid in it, and offers it to me with a big grin. I take it hesitantly and sniff of it. It smells very strong, with a strange burned sweetish note.

I look at him dubitatively. “Not much of it in there, is it?”

“It’s much stronger than wine. That’s spirits drink called rum, Lord Hound. It comes from where I was born, the Summer Isles. Be careful.”

I bark dismissively and swallow a big mouthful, and as soon as it’s going down, I feel like I’ve been engulfed by liquid fire. My throat burns, making me cough and sputter so bad that I think that I’ll choke. Booka has burst into great gales of laughter. When I regain my breath, I whistle in appreciation.

“Fucking hell, that’s strong stuff! Give me more!”

He pours out more, shaking his head at me in good natured admonition. The other men come in and soon, everybody has their little cups brimming with the stuff. The men bring out a large and thick board of wood which they lean against a wall. They mark down straight lines and circles on it with chalk, and we start a contest with knife throwing on these targets, wagering copper coins. With my deathly accuracy, which remains even in my increasingly inebriated state, I win every time, soon ending with my coin pouch bulging, which I give back in return for their hospitality.

I find that I have a very hard time ascending the stairway, and I have to rest at the top to regain some strength. The cabins look very far away and crooked, making me laugh wildly. Each footstep feels like my boot is sinking through the heaving deck, and I’m reeling, walking sideways like a fucking crab. I wonder if I’m going to be able to reach the cabins, as my legs feel like very soft wool and I stumble every five steps. Hells, I think that I’ve never been so drunk in my life.

When I reach my goal, I decide that I’ll never be able to go up the stairs to our cabins, and I don’t think that I want to in this state. So I knock loudly on the captain’s door, still laughing, and he opens it after a moment, an inquiring look in his eyes. But when he sees me barely able to stand up, he understands immediately and guides me to the divan, on which I sink on my back like a big falling log. I look up at him with bleary eyes, my laughter turning soon in sobbing.

“Thoren, I’m no good,” I say thickly in a very raspy voice. “No good at peace, no good with birds; only good for battles and swords.”

He sighs tiredly. “You’re right dog. You’re really out of your depth.”

As much as my mind is getting muddled, this still manages to worry me. I try to raise my head.

“What do you... mean? No good on the ship?”

The head that he’s shaking now is getting so much bigger and blurry. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

I’ll never know what he meant, as suddenly everything turns black, and I feel and hear nothing anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The captain is given a voice.

** CHAPTER VII **

**Thoren**

 

Before retiring to my bed, I look at Sandor Clegane, sprawled on the divan and dead to the world. He’s going to suffer a lot when he wakes up in the morning. The hair that he combs over his burned side is in disarray, revealing in pitiless sight the hairless and scarred flesh, the twisted stump of an ear.

We’re so different, him and I... I’ve always been merry and carefree, and he’s always had that dark cloud hanging over him. Even more now, it seems, despite having left the corrupted Red Keep. And so reckless and imprudent, pushing the limits like he were courting death and defying the Gods...

And this girl that he brought here, this delicate and frail little lady, so out of place everywhere except in a castle; she who had been so alone that the only protector that she’d managed to attract was the Hound. Now she has the hard task of taming him, and I wonder who between the two of them is in the most in danger from the other...

But however fragile looking that she seems, she stands up to him; I have to give her that. I remember an incident that has happened not long ago. After having finished our supper, the Hound had started complaining and rambling angrily about knights. Her face had become flushed, and she had stood up suddenly, coming to stand near him. I could understand this subject being a sore spot for her. He had stopped speaking and had looked up with a sneer at the determined set to her mouth and eyes.

“Sandor, you and I are much more alike that I had realised.”Her tone was clipped and cool. “You speak so often of knights that I’m thinking that you like them as much as I did in the past.”

She had struck well, unfortunately for her. A great stillness came over him; then a tension and bunching up of muscles stiffening his body. He got up with eyes smoldering and a hard line to his mouth.  She gasped as he advanced slowly on her, making her retreat until she was backed against the wall. Her blue eyes were huge with fright. He put up an arm on the wall on top of her head, trapping her there. He spoke in a low and raspy tone.

“I don’t like it when you peep at me like this, little bird.”

“Stop doing this, you’re scaring me.”

“You’re scared of everything.”

“I don’t like it when you lean over me like this.”

“Oh? Then I can arrange something else for you.”

He got down on his knees in front her, raising his mocking face up to her.

“Oh great lady, you’re so tall! Don’t hurt me please, I’m scared!”

She was breathing fast. I saw her face get very red, and how one little fist was clenching hard, the knuckles turning white. He saw it too, and smiled grimly.

“Hit me then! What are you waiting for? I know that you want to do it.”

“What would happen if I did it?”

“You’ll have to do it to find out.”

Then I saw the anger leave her. Her eyes were bleak as she looked down at him. “Yes, I’m a coward. And you like to scare me, even though we _both_ know very well that I’m no match against you, that I’ll always be helpless before _your strength,_ Hound.”

She had inclined her head gracefully. He had not expected this response and it had disarmed him. He had gotten up and I could see his teeth gnashing together as he had stood still for a moment, and then started to pace restlessly, like a dog that had lost the scent in the hunt.  She took the opportunity to return near to the table, trembling slightly.  I gave her a reassuring glance, and as if he had sensed this, he stood again in front of her, but more at a distance. His mouth was twitching.

“Remember the story that I had told you about Gregor, the wooden knight and the brazier? Well, there he was, taking these fucking sacred vows, and my father standing there beaming with pride, never saying a fucking word about what he had done to me. And everybody was welcoming him, this monster in a man’s skin who had turned me into a monster too. They all knew that he had started to terrorise the people on our lands, the raids that he made on villages; but of course, these other bloody knights did it too, misusing their power. And they still made these lying songs about them, the ladies simpering about them, and the highborns never doing anything to stop the knights from preying on their own realm, because they fought for them, kept them safe and did their dirty work! And you, you believed these fucking lies too!”

After this, a great wave of silence had washed over us. With a last dark glance, he had gone out and slammed the door. There I finally knew the cause of his horrible burns, and I was shocked beyond words.  That Gregor would do that to him... He had never told me or anybody else. Significant that he had only told it to this girl... No wonder he had left home on the day that his father had died. He had joined the Lannister camps, where I belonged too then, and I had felt a strange protective feeling for this angry, disfigured boy that most people steered clear of. Then he had started to be known as the Hound, his great skills at fighting building him fast a fearsome reputation. I had never felt afraid of him, as his hostility never managed to reach me, and I was a big Bear who was no natural enemy of his.

Coming back to myself, I had heard the lady crying softly by herself, and had taken her in my arms and patted her back reassuringly. She felt so slight and I had thought for a moment, that however improbable this could be, I would have liked a daughter like this, to cherish and protect, if I hadn’t been an old crusty sea captain. While I didn’t like at all how the Hound behaved with her, I didn’t want to interfere, except in the case that he _would hurt her._ But I didn’t think that he would; I had never seen him or heard of him mistreating whores.

“There, there, don’t be afraid. I know that he won’t hurt you, don’t fret.”

“It’s not only that”, she had said between sniffles. “I know that it’s awful what happened to him, and it saddens me. But at the same time, I don’t understand why he’s always so angry with me. He must hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you, my lady. He acts like this because you scare him. That’s why he bites this bad.”

She had looked astonished, her tears forgotten for the moment. “The Hound scared of me? This is madness.”

“A man can be hurt by other means than by physical blows and swords. I cannot tell you more, as there are things that you have to find out for yourself, and I don’t know what went on between both you since you met as to create this set of circumstances.”

Afterward we had spoken of different things, the lady asking me questions about my travels and I complying happily. She had also told me about her life at Winterfell, but never about the one at the Red Keep. Then I had escorted her to their quarters, and seen that the door to his cabin was closed. He was probably simmering in his own juices.

Well, that outburst seemed to have done him some good, getting it out of his system, as he hasn’t spoken of the knights again.

Unfortunately, I have also heard today’s fight. I had come out to look for the Hound, and spying him and the lady sitting on the bench, I had approached, until I had started to hear what was being said and had preferred to remain unseen by him. I had hidden behind the side wall  and heard everything.  She, still being a naive and innocent maid, had not sensed a man’s jealousy behind the words, and has defended herself uselessly against his accusations. Then I had heard the slap, and had chuckled quietly in my corner. I knew who had been hit. _Good..._ She had run to her quarters and he had stormed off too. I had returned unseen to my cabin, and had the cabin boy deliver supper to her quarters.

As if I had summoned her with my thoughts, I hear a timid knock on my door. I open it in a crack and see her standing there, covered and overwhelmed by his cloak. I get out through the small opening and close the door behind me, standing in front of her. She’s looking up at me worriedly.

“I’m very sorry to disturb you Captain. Sandor has not come in yet and I wonder if you know where he is. I find it disquieting.”

I smile reassuringly. “Not to worry, my lady. He’s right there with me, though in no fit state for you to see.”

She looks endearingly concerned, and I open up the door a bit, signaling her closer. She cocks her head sideways, and we both hear the rumbling snores coming out of the room. I see that she also smells the fumes from the wine and rum, and she wrinkles up her nose. I close the door tactfully.

“I’m afraid that he’s had something to drink stronger than what he’s used to. You’ll see him on the morrow, although much worse for the wear. Don’t fret about it. Let me take you to your quarters.”

As I escort her up, I wonder about the people at the Red Keep. Here’s the beautiful maiden in distress like in the songs that they love to hear and pretend that they believe in; one would think that people so refined and noble that they would crowd in to help her, and there’s been only an uncouth warrior and a rough captain who have wanted to do it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sansa**

While I still feel sorrowful about my family that I’ve left behind, the sadness has retreated deeper in me, it’s quieter for now. Also, I had felt the same things at the Red Keep; _I had known then that they were lost to me._ My father’s execution had started a war, the hold on the Iron Throne had become unstable, attracting all the pretenders and jackals that had sniffed the weakness and nothing would ever be the same again. I had a lot of time to grieve, and the rawness of it had left me.

And I don’t miss anymore the rank that I had in Westeros; I know that I’m a lady and that I always will be regardless of circumstances. That’s why I haven’t let myself be bothered by all the cursing and swearing that goes on when the captain and the Hound play. I had thought at first that I wouldn’t give Sandor the satisfaction of letting it touch me; then that a lady had to and _could_ arise above these things _._ And I had heard swearing before at King’s Landing; a lot of the men swore, even the highborn sometimes did when they thought that no lady was present. And in a way, what does it matter? Some people speak in a more refined way but act a lot worse.

I find that I’ve enjoyed seeing Sandor gamble; he brings the same fierceness and sense of competition to the game, wanting to win and crush his opponent. The captain is more insouciant about winning or losing.

But just when I had thought that I could start to feel at ease with Sandor, he’s started to act hatefully again, _insinuating_ things, mocking me, like in King’s Landing. But this time I’m not sobbing my heart out on my pillow; I’m pacing in the cabin and huffing. When I get tired of it this, I sit down on the divan and find myself feeling calmer. As I sit I’m filled with disbelief at what I just did.

Somehow, without realising it or the why of it, I had lost my fear and revulsion of his disfigurement after the escape, but I still feared _him._ While he had never beaten me like the others, sometimes I feared that he would do it; thinking that the depth of his anger would lead to it. Now I feel wonder that I got angry and struck him in the face. Wrath as I had never known it had filled my entire being, and suddenly I didn’t care anymore about what he would do; whether he would shout threateningly, beat me or even throw me overboard. At that moment, I was feeling so sick of being terrified all the time that it had burned the fear out of me.

At the Red Keep I had been trying very hard to please, to be good and nice so I wouldn’t be mistreated, to say words which I had thought that they would want to hear from me, but what good had it accomplished? I was still beaten regularly and treated with scorn by the King and others.  Today I have acted differently, finally daring to say exactly how I felt, and his reaction had been totally unexpected; instead of jumping on me like I had expected, his face had turned white, in sharp contrast with the red imprint of my hand left on his skin and I thought that I saw for a moment a spark of bewilderment in his eyes. He hadn’t moved at all.

Yes, I had thought that he could be kind when he had comforted me after the attack and the nightmare, helping me by thinking that I would probably feel safer not sleeping alone. _And I had felt safer._ In the early morning, when I had found myself nestled against his back, and remembering who this was, it had shocked so that I had turned on my side fast, my heart thudding in my chest.

But after all this care on his part, I had not expected him to turn brooding again and lash out at me with his anger. But I should have known better: this is the way he’s always been with me. Acts of kindness followed by a flood of anger. Except for the knights, I seem to be the one that he’s always been the angriest at.

There must be a reason. Had I hurt him because I hadn’t been able to bear looking at him in the face for so long? I know that this was something that he had wanted me to do and then had often reproached me for my being unable to do it. I haven’t considered this before; being so afraid of him; my fear had overwhelmed any other thoughts or feelings I could have had. I had not considered that somebody this terrifying could be vulnerable like any other person, or that he was bothered by the look of his scars. I had even thought that he had enjoyed having them so that he could scare people even more. Was I wrong? If I had been, then indeed I had _hurt him deeply_.

While I’m sure that I’ll eventually feel remorse at this, for the moment I’m experiencing satisfaction, a sense of retribution, and pride at being brave for once. And I realize that I don’t even feel resentment at his words; I feel free of the sting of them!


	9. Chapter 9

**Sandor**

On the morning, I open one eye cautiously, and the light pierces it badly and I close it hurriedly. As the memories of last night come back, all of my body’s discomforts wake up too.  My face and body are covered in sweat, I have a disgusting taste in my mouth, my stomach is churning uneasily, but the worse is that terrible pain in my head that pulses in a regular hard beat, making me moan.

It takes me a long time to get up from that divan, testing each limb before moving it, my eyes squinting. When I finally sit upright, I feel something sloshing in my middle like a river, and I let out a deep liquid belch that brings up unpleasantly the taste of that sweet fucking drink. _Seven Hells, I’m glad that at least I had the common sense no to get up to our quarters last night and that she’s not seeing me like this._ Then I hear a chuckle, and look up to find Thoren sitting at the table, watching me.

“Ah, you’re up! I’ve seen corpses that looked better than you. They smelled better too.”

“Fuck off!”

I get on my feet slowly and my world becomes quite unsteady. I grit my teeth against the dizziness, and when I feel stronger, I start to walk to the side door.

“If you have the need to take a piss, you’ll have to do it over the railing, as I think that I’ll be there for a while.”

I drag my feet the whole way, which is short but feel far today. When I close the door to the privy, locking it, I find that fresh sweat has broken out on top of the old one, and my mouth is grimacing with suddenly acute nausea. I kneel down fast in front of the privy’s hole, speaking to it loudly and very profusely for a long while. I’m surrounded by the taste and smell of the rum, sickening me even more. _This is agony._ _What did you drink like this on an empty stomach, you fucking fool?_ Never, ever am I going to drink that vile stuff again. I was right to mistrust sweet drinks. _Nothing is worth this._

When I’m done, I sit down against the wall, regaining my breath for a moment, putting a wet cloth on my forehead.  After a while, I get up to begin the tiresome task of washing, wishing for a big bucket that I could lie in for a long moment... But I find it not so displeasing after all, feeling better and better as I rub the cool cloths against my hot skin, smell the clean scent of the soap. After I’ve dressed again in my britches, I think that I’m going to survive.

When I get back to the cabin, I find Thoren sitting down to breakfast, and I have to avert my nose from the smell of the food, as it makes my stomach roil again. He has another new strange container on the table, similar to the teapot except slimmer and higher. Steam is coming out of it too; a strong and rich aroma that I find surprisingly pleasant. Thoren extends his left hand to it.

“For you my friend. The perfect remedy for what ails you.”

I sit down and pour some of it in my cup. It’s dark brown, and I take a small mouthful - for once - discovering that it tastes as good as it smells, with a strong bitter undercurrent to it. I like that. As I drink more, I find that my headache is going and my stomach has settled quietly, and I feel a good energy flooding me. I raise my eyebrows in inquiry.

“This is coffea, something that I stumbled upon recently. It comes from the jungles of Sothorios; dark brown beans that have to be dried after harvesting them. Then they are crushed and can be brewed with boiling water. I like to drink it in the morning, and having sacks of the beans, I’ll try to introduce it in Essos.”

I nod approvingly and then ask: “Thoren, lend me a tunic, won’t you? No use having made myselfsmell _so sweet_ if I have to put on again the dirty one.”

He chuckles and goes into his chamber, bringing back a dark brown tunic and a vest which fit in the width but are a bit short for me. No matter, they will do. I find that he’s still looking at me with a twinkle in his eyes.

“What?”

“I do think that you’ll have to smell _sweeter_ more often now. You’re no longer in barracks or common rooms with rough men who don’t care about bad smells. You’re accompanying a lady now, a _real little lady_ like you said.”

He smiles knowingly. Thoren is the only person in the world who can say anything to me without my getting angry about it. He’d always had this way about him that made me feel easy with him.

Giving him a glance of thanks, I go out on the deck. The fresh morning breeze restores me almost to my usual state, and when the men come out at their posts, they look curiously at me, but they find nothing in my demeanor or a movement that betrays last night’s ravages. _Last night is a memory_ and my face has again that forbidding expression on it. The men’s gazes turn full of respect. _Good for the discipline._ I’ve found out that if I want the men that I lead in a battle to be hard and tough, I have to be even harder than them.

Booka saunters up to me, grinning as usual.

“Master Hound, will you teach me about knife throwing?”

“Practice and practice; make the knife an extension of your arm that will obey what your eyes show you. I’ll show you later. Bring me some bread and fruit now.”

I eat those sitting on a barrel, and find my gaze shifting often to the door on the high cabin, wondering if she will show up on the stairway today. But she doesn’t, and I feel uneasy about it.

I still feel like a shit about what happened yesterday, but when I take her out again, I’m firm in my mind that I won’t apologise to her. _What is said is said._ I’m certainly not going to start behaving like these fucking simpering knights do when they want to get a lady’s favor. When she sees me, I’m surprised to find her expression free of resentment and showing some concern.

“I hope that you’re feeling better than this morning.”

I wince at that. _She heard then, not the prettiest sounds to wake up to._

I reply gruffly, “That wasn’t so bad. I’ve known much worse than this.”

A corner of her mouth lifts up. “I don’t think so, Sandor.”

This is not what I had expected, and I find that I cannot resist the sparkle in her eyes. I smile. “You’re right little bird. It was bad.”

This day is already turning out a lot better that I had expected. We walk for a long time without speaking, just listening to the sound of the waves and the creaking one from the ship. I stop near the railing and turn around.

“When you went to pray in the godswood, you really believed in it, the gods and all that?”

She stops and gazes at me. “Yes, that’s what I was taught, and I believed in it, I still do.”

“You still believed even if your prayers were never answered?” I start to hear the edge in my voice, and she does too. Her face tenses up and her eyes narrow.

“Now, are you going to start again belittling everything that I say? If it is so, I won’t stand for it.”

She turns to leave, and I grasp one wrist, tugging at it gently to bring her around to face me again. A smile starts playing at on my mouth. I point at my chest. “I don’t have the armor on today.  You can strike me if you want.”

“No.” She bites her lower lip and takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have done that yesterday. I don’t feel good about it. I’ve never struck somebody before.”

“Maybe you should start. Some people deserve it you know.”

I’m surprised to see a corner of her mouth lifting up again. I think that she understands that it is my way of apologising. Then it vanishes quickly and she looks at me with intent eyes. “Yes, you’re right, my prayers were not answered, but I still kept going to the godswood. It made me feel calmer afterward; giving me strength to face another day, giving me hopes that it maybe it would get better. Then, I started to stay longer because I felt the need to think, to clear my head of all the confusion, the lies and manipulations, so I could really try to understand.”

She stops and raises her chin defiantly. “You kept mocking me because I believed that knights were noble, there to defend the weak and helpless. But even if I had come to realise that it was untrue, I still couldn’t let it go; what else did I have to comfort me? “

The pain of lost dreams is all there in her glistening blue eyes, and it’s hard to look at.

She lowers her eyes and sighs. “I had lost everything that was meaningful to me, and going there gave me some peace. And then one prayer was answered, but not in the way that I had thought that it would be.”

She looks at me for a long moment, mesmerizing me with the luminous expression that has appeared on her face, the ghost of a smile. This I haven’t expected. There I had been trying to harden her up for a long time and she had taken another road, her eyes more open now while keeping that softness and innocence that everybody had wanted to break, _including me. How wise of her not to have let me do it._

“This has more meaning for me than I can say Sandor, your helping me leave this place. Never forget that.”

She starts to move away, with me following at her side... We walk around in silence again, and I feel that rare sense of being settled inside, like these little slivers of peace that I only got through her presence, however much she exasperated, and infuriated me at times.

As we arrive near the captain’s cabin, she suddenly stops and turns to face me.

“Pardon me Sandor, but I noticed that while you don’t believe in the seven gods, you seem to believe in the seven hells, as you curse about them so often.”

“Oh, I believe in the gods.” I’m showing my teeth in a grim smile. “They reign in the seven hells, not above in the pretty blue sky.  They’re having their fun down there, laughing at us.”

“No! Light and dark exist both in people and the world.  How could there be shadows if there was no light? It cannot be only darkness and pain; it would break my heart if I thought like this.”

“Then prepare yourself for it to be broken, as little flowers can be crushed easily under the heel of a boot.”

I see that my words have hurt her again by the way her face contracts painfully for a moment.  She closes her eyes and breathes deeply.

“No! I won’t let you.”

But when she looks at me again, her eyes are so clear and blue, like a bottomless sea. As she gazes with at me for a long time, I feel like she can see through me and I through her too; this deep silent exchange joining us together a lot more than mere words could. I start to feel unsettled, and become even more so when she lifts up a hand to my face, feather light fingers stroking the beard on my jaw, creating shivers that course on my skin. My insides are melting. I withdraw abruptly and she lets her hand fall gracefully to her side.  A ghost smile touches her mouth again.

 “I know that you don’t believe in the goodness of the Gods, but maybe if your prayers haven’t been answered yet it is because they’re very important, and these can take a lot of time in coming.”

_How I wish I believed in this._

I’m flooded again with feelings that I don’t know what to do with. I have to look away, lest she sees something in my eyes that I wouldn’t want her to see. I look at the horizon without really seeing anything.  

After a long moment, I hear her walking up the stairs, and I it brings me back to life, creating anxiety. I frown.

“Where are you going? You’re not coming for supper?”

She turns back to answer. “Yes, but I have something to give you before we join the captain. Please come.”

What can she give me? She has nothing, except herself... I seriously doubt that is what she wants to give me, just before supper at that...I follow her up the stairs, and hesitate before the threshold, like if it was opening on a new world, on the unknown. Contrary to what she may think about people and the world, I know that I’m mostly filled with darkness, having grown to mistrust good things even more than the bad ones for the treachery that they can hide.

She waits patiently and I finally come in clenching my teeth at my skittishness. She walks to the middle of the sitting room and then turns to me, an unfathomable expression on her face.

I ask ungraciously: ”What?”

“I know that you won’t accept a token of gratitude, but maybe you’ll accept this. Do you remember when you asked me for a song? You said ‘ _that one day you would take a song from me, whether I willed or not’_.”

This isn’t one of my best memories. _I was drunk._ I disliked the songs and the singers, and when I had asked her for a song, it had started more like sneering, a mockery of them, and then I had surprised myself by how much I had wanted the song from her, wishing that sweet gift for me.

I simply nod.

“Well, I’d like to sing one for you, if you wish it. Which song would you like?”

“Florian and Jonquil, like you said”, I reply as stiffly as I feel my muscles and body are getting to be.

“Then it will be. But know that it’s the last time that I’ll sing the old songs. I’ll learn other songs in this new world that we’re going to. Please sit.”

I go sit on the divan, and she stands in front of me. She breathes deeply and starts singing. Her voice immediately embraces the room, my ears and my head. It comes out effortlessly out of her throat like a low vibration, a whisper gaining strength, so soft and sweet that I shiver all over. I listen to the foolish and romantic tale, my eyes never leaving the sight of her. When it stops, I close my eyes, to savour the memory and sink it someplace safe in me.

_One unvoiced prayer answered. Maybe the world is not as awful as I thought._

*******

On another night, as we get back to our quarters, she surprises me by sitting down on the divan. Usually, she’s goes directly back to her chamber and goes to sleep not long after. Now, she’s holding down the folded map of the world happily to her chest.

“This was so nice of Thoren to give it to me! Have you seen it?”

“No. Never had the time to see this one.”

She looks up hopefully at me. “Do you want to?” She holds her hand out to a space beside her.

My, this is another day full of surprises. I nod and then walk slowly to the divan and sit down beside her. She unfolds the map carefully, and I’m reminded once again of how big it is. She holds by the left side while I take the right side. It is fantastically detailed, in different colours and textures to show mountains, forests, deserts, snow, and even has drawing of miniature structures in the main cities and towns, with all the names beautifully written at each location.

“I never tired of looking at it, it’s marvellous. And it was quite a surprised to discover how Westeros looks like besides Essos; it’s so narrow and long while Essos is huge and so wide. And these other continents that I didn’t know of: Sothoryos, Ulthos...

Her finger draws a part of our crossing, hesitating near the Steeping Stones.

“Have we crossed these yet?”

My finger takes position from hers and slides down, nearing the isle of Lys. “We did. We’re about here now, having sailed about two thirds of the journey now.”

“And it’s still only the beginning! The Summer Sea, the Jade Sea... Do you know where we could settle?”

“No, but I can tell you about some parts where we won’t stay. At the Far East, the Shadow Lands. It’s reputed to be a place of black magic, barren and dark. And all the northern part is where the Dothraki roam in cycles all year long.”

“Oh, the nomadic horselords.”

I sigh through my nose in impatience. “Not lords like you would like them to be, but barbarians, who ride with only a vest to cover their chest and long braids down their backs. They eat their own horses and carry curved blades.”

She wrinkles her nose distastefully at this and I chuckle. She wouldn’t last long with the Dothraki, I’m afraid.  Daenery Targaryen did, marrying a khal when she was as young as Sansa is, but she was part of the old dynasty, a dragon, bent on reclaiming the Iron Throne that was taken by Robert Baratheon. “This land is very different from what we have known, maybe except for Braavos.” I point at an island at the northern tip of Essos, in the Shivering Sea. “However, I find it too near Westeros, as there are a lot of contacts between it and King’s Landing. Also, it is in a northern direction. Winter will come there.”

My finger travels through different cities on the map, on an island, explaining the bits that I know about them. This is exhilarating, having the possibility to be able to choose in such a vast land, of seeing these cities, wondering about them.

“Would you like to live in a house near the sea?”

“Oh yes.” Her eyes are sparkling. “I love the sea so much. We could see it through Blackwater’s Bay, but it’s not the same. I wish that I could sit on a balcony every night and watch the sunset, hear the waves, feel the warm breeze.”

After a few minutes of perusing the map again, she folds it back, taking it in her hand and getting up. I can see that her eyelids are becoming heavy with tiredness, and that she’ll retire soon to her chamber. I let out a long breath.

“Sansa. “

She gets a surprise too, as it’s the first time that I call her by her given name. I can see that she likes it though, as her face softens with quiet joy.

“Yes, Sandor?”

 _Gods, this is hard..._ “Thank you. For the song. For giving it willingly.”

Her blue eyes gaze into mine. “You’re welcome. I’ll do it again, as I learn new ones.”

“Do you wish me to buy you a harp when we arrive at Volantis?”

“No!” she replies vehemently, and then catches herself. “Thank you for the thought, but I don’t want an instrument that will remind me of these old songs. If I can find something else with strings, something new that I can sing along to...”

“We’ll look into that.” I let a moment pass, to give me some breathing space and then I ask: “I was wondering about something. I’ve seen you put away scrolls in your chest. What are they?”

She startles at this and frowns. “I hope that you haven’t looked at them?”

I sigh deeply as not to lose my patience. ” If I had read them, I wouldn’t need to ask you about them, would I?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t meaning to be mistrustful...”

I roll my eyes upward and almost smile. “Sansa, there’s no need to apologise all of the time.”

“But I have to! I always seem to say the wrong thing.”

“Not true. What does it matter if you say the wrong thing sometimes? Hell, if I would have to apologise for every time that I have said the wrong thing, I would need to apologise for days and days.”

Now I’m smiling, and a corner of her mouth lifts off and she laughs and laughs. I think that imagining the Hound saying he’s sorry all day long must be quite an amusing sight. I laugh too.

“Then?”

She looks uncomfortable at this, and then takes a deep breath. “It’s very personal, Sandor. It’s a journal. I write about things that happen, how I feel about them.”

“Does it help?”

“Yes. It’s the strangest thing. After I’ve written, I feel like I’ve been released from all troublesome feelings.” Then she frowns again, in inquiry. “Do you need some release too, Sandor?”

I’m finding that she’s getting more and more perceptive, and I’m not sure what I think about that. I take a couple of deep breaths. “Maybe.  But I’m not comfortable with scribbling.”

She’s turning around in the direction of her chamber. There’s something else that I’ve been struggling with for days, something new for me and I really don’t know how to go about it. So to give me some occupation, I get up and remove my belt with the dagger, keeping it dangling in my hand. She stops at the sound and looks up at me, then stares uneasily at the weapon.  I come closer and lean against the space of wall between the two doors of our chambers. She looks at me with questions in her eyes.

 “Little bird... Remember when you slept in my room for a few nights, when you had your nightmares?”

“Yes.” I feel that her guard has come up, and it doesn’t help me at all, but still I pursue it, now that I’ve started.

“Why did you stop?”

Now she’s starting to look flustered, moving back to her door, her movements telling me that she’s wanting to get away, that she’s afraid. That makes me angry again, but I don’t want to give into it, as getting angry has always pushed her back further. So I breathe deeply to calm it.

“Because I stopped being afraid.”

 “But you didn’t stop being afraid of me.”

She averts her gaze from mine, her face getting tense from distress.

“Please, stop tormenting me with this. It makes me uneasy. You’re the Hound and you’re a man too. You once leered at me... on the Serpentine. And on other occasions too in the past year.”

 _Because you were becoming a woman._ I close my eyes for a moment and then sigh. “True. So? Never did anything more. We both know that if I had wanted to force you, I wouldn’t have needed you to be lying down sleeping and helpless. I’ll not harm you. When are you going to really believe it?

 “Why are you saying these things?”

 _To reassure you._ “Because I found out that when you went back to sleep in your chamber again that I was missing it. _Please._ ”

Her eyes have gotten huge, and I find that my heart is beating swiftly from all the lines that I’ve crossed, from what it has opened in me; that unvisited needy part, from the blow to my pride; I never asked for anything before from anybody. I had always gotten what I had wanted through orders or paying for it.

“So I’m asking you now to do it again. I’m not biding nor ordering you; it’s your choice. Yes or no.”

I give her a last glance and then enter my chamber, going to hang the belt at the head of my bed. I’m feeling relieved about finally voicing my wishes, but also strangely vulnerable and with a new tension in me. I don’t ask for anything because I don’t want to hear a _no, and especially from her._ I move slowly, removing my boots with extra care so I can stretch the moment, to avoid for as long as possible the waiting time.  And then when I turn around to pull the covers back, I hear her footsteps coming in cautiously.

I look at her, and I can’t help the rising of the deep sense of triumph that fills me up with the headiest feeling inside, making me smile cockily at her. _The Hound’s smile._

Her voice sounds like she caught between panic and resignation.

“I must have lost my mind to do something like this. I’m scared and it’s inappropriate.”

I can’t help but laugh, but in an indulgent way, at the intent seriousness on her features.

“ _Inappropriate?_ Another word that your septa taught you? Forget this. We both left our old lives behind and the old rules too. We’ll make new rules in this new world.”

“Oh.”

I slip first in the bed, and after a moment’s hesitation she does too, and I blow on the candles and a comforting darkness enfolds us. I’m sleepy too, but I feel that as tired as she looked, her mind is working on something too, and I remain alert, waiting patiently.

“Sandor?”, she says in a small whispery voice. “May the gods forgive me, but I missed it too. _The sense of safety._   I’ve been alone for so long.”

_And so have I, sweet thing. I didn’t know of it until I met you._


	10. Chapter 10

**Sansa’s Journal**

After my last moon, I have found that new sensations are awakening in me, strange stirrings in my lower belly and a peculiar restlessness. These feelings often manifest themselves when I look at Sandor’s muscular thighs and big knees as he sits on a bench.  I feel drawn to gaze at his long fingers as they slowly stroke his wine cup, feeling a kind of yearning. When I watch him striding on the deck, a tall dark figure with long black hair, looking like he has belonged there forever with his scarred face, my chest tightens inexplicably.

I’ve never felt this way before; when I first saw Joffrey, then ser Loras, I found them so handsome that I thought I was in love; swooning at the thought of them, dreaming of being with them, gazing in their eyes; these images were what I saw when I anticipated life with them. I had thought that Joffrey’s chaste kisses were the height of happiness.

But they were boys and he is a man.

I know about mating, the joining of bodies that create offspring, but nobody has told me how it feels. Does it start before it happens? Is this what I’m feeling now, this disturbing awakening in my body, this sense of being betrayed by it? I find these sensations disturbing, and wish that my lady mother were here to explain them to me and to reassure me.

*******

While I sleep every night with Sandor, it feels very chaste. Some boundaries are never breached, like there was a sword between us to keep them. I know that he would laugh at me if I said so, that he’s no knight and doesn’t believe in these foolish gallant rituals, but I still feel the presence of this ghost sword. His body and limbs never stray from the strict borders which he has outlined for them. I too haven’t strayed, except for the first time, when I had slept snuggled up next to his back.

I did it because I was afraid, and now I’m too afraid to do it.

Then on one night I had a nightmare again. In the dream, I had woken up in my bed at the Red Keep, with Joffrey leaning over me, his hands restraining my arms and keeping me pined to the bed. I had panicked then, because I couldn’t understand how he could have gotten in, as I had noticed that my door was still whole and locked. I had tried to struggle but his grip had gotten stronger, and I had felt deep despair, as it seemed that nothing would ever keep him away, not even walls, doors or locks; I was doomed. His face, that I had found so beautiful before, disgusted me now, especially these full, ravenous lips. And that face was coming very near my own, and I had screamed as it was my last resource...

And I had woken up in the bed in the cabin at sea, sitting up stiff as a board, my heart pounding so loudly in my chest that I was panting. My gaze was circling the room frantically, but it was black as pitch, and only feeling the rougher fabric of the coverlet and the gentle rocking of the waves assured me where I was. And then I sensed a presence in the bed next to me, remembering that it was Sandor, and felt him turn over on his side, the side that was facing mine. I felt guilty that I had awoken him again in the middle of the night, but he was not saying anything; I was only hearing his regular breathing. As not to disturb him further - instead of going off in the sitting room to light a candle to calm myself down -  I lay down again and didn’t move, feeling so raw and trembling.

I sighed, and then sensed another movement, an arm hovering over my head and a hand that landed on my hair. It started stroking it, in slow, rhythmic movements, so tender and light that I couldn’t believe that it was coming from that rough, big masculine hand.  I started to feel better from it, my fears gradually calming down and the nightmare receding from me. It had been so long since somebody had touched me like this; the last one had been my father, a few days before his imprisonment. I had missed it so...

But it was not feeling the same. It was awakening in me a fluttering in my chest, a thrill in my heart and shivers on my skin. While I had craved a candle to chase the shadows, now I preferred the darkness that was hiding my feelings and reactions; was enjoying not seeing him but knowing that it was him; the dark made it thrilling and secret. The caresses were going on and on; on top of my head, on the sides, brushing my earlobe, and I was wishing that they would never stop while the sensations from them were becoming intense and unbearable. I had to move, to stop them, so I touched his forearm and squeezed it. He removed the hand right away and let it fall against his side.

“Thank you Sandor,” I whispered.

“You’re still trembling. Nobody will hurt you while I’m here. You’re safe.”

I had turned on my side, silent tears of joy sliding on my cheeks, happiness wrapping me like the most comforting blanket. After all the devastation that had left me bare and hollow, I felt for the first time that something truly beautiful was happening to me, in me. I inched closer to him, and put an arm around his waist. Then I had slept peacefully.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ship finally arrives at its first port. Sandor and Sansa discover the exotic city of Volantis.

**Sandor**

 

This has turned out to be the most peaceful time in my life. I hadn’t thought of what would follow when we would find a place to settle, what I would do.

While I like this life on the ship, and know that Thoren would readily accept me as a partner. I don’t think that I’m suited to this life of eternal traveling and wandering, though. Thoren is rarely on land for more than a week, and I need to grow roots on land. And while I like this now, I know that I would get restless with the monotony of buying and delivering goods, with no adventure in sight... I’m no merchant, I’m a warrior.  What about The Golden Company, comprised of exiled knights and sons of highborns? Fuck no; no more _knights_ , unless I had the mission to kill all of their members.

Pirating? That would be sweet revenge, especially coming upon a passenger ship of rich westerners... But it would mean being away for months, and I didn’t think that I would want to leave Sansa alone that long. Being a sworn shield to an important figure of the East? I wouldn’t be my own man anymore; having to obey again some tyrant or King, with their propensity for deathly courts, plots and intrigues.  An assassin? I do like a target that fights back, but if the target were very hard to get at... that could be intriguing.

Fortunately, there’s no haste in making a decision; I could even decide to do nothing, as I have to means for it, but it’s not in my nature to be idle. I’m more anticipating our getting near to our first destination, and finally, after we had been surrounded by water for so long, it happens one morning.

“Land, ho!” calls one of the hands, who had climbed up the crow’s nest and had checked the horizon with a spy glass.

I really have to squint to see something, but then I see it too, a small, different coloured feature emerging at the horizon line of water and sky. Everybody stops their activities for a moment to gaze at this wondrous sight.

I go get Sansa, and as we stand near the railing, I put a hand on her shoulder and point it out at her.

“See that, that light brown landmass? It’s Volantis. The sailors knew that we were near even before sighting it, as birds always fly at sea near land.”

“Oh.” She looks disappointed though. “But it looks so small and faraway!”

 _Just like a child._ I sigh. “Be patient. It won’t take so long now.”

And we wait near the railing as we make our approach. The landmass gets bigger and bigger, a strange beautiful sight: gold brown with lush greenery and with blinding white structures against the clear blue sky. I’ve never seen anything like this, and she looks at me with wonder.

“Do you think that we’ll be able to visit?”

“Yes, we’ll be docked for two days here; resupplying, selling cargo, hiring some new hands. I don’t know exactly when though: I have to speak with Thoren about the schedules and when he’ll give me leave.”

“The trees and greenery look so different. Do you think that the summer is eternal here?”

“Maybe.  When we left King’s Landing, we were in autumn, and here, it’s hotter than the warmest summer day that I’ve known.”

 She has flung her head back in pleasure, closing her eyes. When she opens them again, her eyes have turned dreamy.

“This is so wonderful, Sandor. It looks like a magical land. Don’t you think so?”

“No.” While I too am impressed with the view of this foreign city, I harbor no illusions about it being an _enchanted place._ People are shits and liars everywhere in the world: driven by ambition, greed and power. It will be the same here, except that it will come in a different manner, with their foreign customs and ways; harder to spot but _still there._

I can see that she’s not pleased at my response. Her face gets a crestfallen expression, replaced by a sullen one and a cooler tone of voice.

“What about the tongue? Can we be understood there by the inhabitants?”

“They use the common tongue here, just like in Westeros. Now, go back to the cabin, but stand ready in case we can disembark soon.”

I escort her up to the door and go join Thoren where he is standing. We return to his cabin, sitting down to cups of wine. He looks a lot more rested and content than at the beginning of the crossing. He claps me on the shoulder.

“You’ve done great work, dog. I never thought it would go that well.”

“Well, men are men, whether they are swords fighters or sailors. I’m used to a pack of curs. Once they knew that they couldn’t mess with me, they settled down. I don’t think now that I want to get rid of them. First, they know who I am and could blab about me, and second, they became a good crew. We’ll need only a couple more of them, to replace the one that was _lost_.“

We laugh at that. Things are so simple with another man! None of us is horrified by dumping a dead body in the water.

”So what happens now?”

“I’m giving you have a full day’s leave right now.  As for tomorrow I’ll need you most of the day. Then we’ll depart shortly after. Organize the men’s leave in shifts, with the schedules that I’ve outlines here, so that everybody can enjoy themselves.”

*******

Before disembarking, I give her firm instructions.

“We can visit and look at what you want, but remember to always stay close and never leave my side.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs petulantly, making me harden my mouth and gaze as to drive the point clearly. My teeth clench briefly. I can see that she still doesn’t understand yet that the world is a dangerous place. She’s still ready to embrace things at their face value, thinking that they are good because they are new and different. Thankfully, I’m more realistic.

As we leave the harbor, coming into the city, we are engulfed in exotic sights and smells. The buildings are so different from Westeros, being mostly white and less massive, with partitioned small windows rounded at the top. Some of the buildings are bigger and covered with rounded roof, the middle sharp and pointing at the sky. It’s very warm. The people are different too, shorter and smaller boned for the most part and have darker skins; they are dressed in lighter garments, tunics and large pants, the women with skirts on top of the pants; some of the men with their heads wrapped in vivid cloth. They speak in a singing way in their own tongue. I’ve spotted very few Westerners; but still there are some of them scattered through the crowd.

A few of the inhabitants are riding huge grey animals, with great flapping ears and a long trunk in front, with ivory curves on each side of its mouth pointing wickedly. The riders sit on a kind of chair contraception on top of richly embroidered blankets.

I’m impressed. _Imagine sitting on that in a battle!_ I would probably stomp out a lot of the enemy before having to unsheathe my sword. Upon spying it, Sansa takes a step back and clings to my arm, her eyes widened.

“What kind of animal is it?” she asks in an almost hushed tone.

A corner of my mouth lifts. “It’s called an elephant.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“Well, if they can be ridden they must not be so bad. But I wouldn’t want to anger one, having that fucking big grey thing charge on me.”

She shudders comically and I laugh. As we resume our walk, I can see from the stares of passerby’s that it is _us_ who are the exotics here. What a sight we must make! I, big in dark armor with paler skin, half burned face and long black hair, and she, small, delicate and so pale, dressed in peasant dress with a kerchief on her head that only emphasizes the refinement of her features. I’m pleased though that they tend to keep a healthy distance from us, probably because of my weapons and the surly expression that I’ve put on again. But the men stare at her, and just like in the West, they don’t bother to disguise their hunger.

“Where are we going?”

“To a kind of market place called a bazaar. Hopefully, we’ll find what we both need.”

The streets have started to converge upon an opening, revealing a maze of very narrow, covered alleys with stalls, feverish activity and a lot of chatter. Fabric and clothes of every hue hang on the walls of the stalls and float enticingly in the breeze. There are cloth bags full of pungent smelling spices, silverware studded with beads, strange delicate furniture, ornate daggers with a mean arc, and everything else that I could have envisioned or not. The wares look refined and so ornate. While this is enjoyable to look at, I find the closeness and the overhead coverings that shade us from the sun overwhelming.

But Sansa is reacting very differently. Her eyes are filled with excitement, her lips parted in wonder, her face glowing. She’s even clapping her hands! When we reach a juncture between the alleys, I push her in a corner between stalls, restraining her by grabbing her shoulders in my hands. She looks up in surprised alarm.

“When will you stop doing this? Stop it!”

I lower my head closer to hers. “Listen to me good. This place is unknown to us, and we have to be very careful, and not bring too much attention on ourselves. If you continue to smile like this, we’ll be robbed blind by the sellers.”

She looks puzzled. “But why?”

“Because here the selling works differently from what we’re used to. There are no set prices; they start higher than the seller wishes to sell them at and you have to bargain down until both seller and customer are satisfied. It’s their custom. So when they’ll spy you with that smile glowing from a league away, they’ll raise their prices sky high.”

“Oh.”

“So I want you to be silent and leave the bargaining to me.”

She nods and we continue exploring. I’m satisfied to notice that she’s put on her Lady Stark expression, distant and poised. When she stops at a stall, she looks almost disinterested as she fingers the tunics, skirts and pants; some in gauzy, bright fabrics, some in printed silks.  Those vivid blues and greens will make her hair flame even more. The seller looks on expectantly, and she nods at me. I point out to the seller what she has chosen, and he takes them off the wall, praising their high quality in a flowery speech, and I set myself, ready for the haggling. _How tiresome._

He calls a price, and I protest, spitting in disgust on the cobbled stones. _What a thief!_ Sansa gasps in horror, but manages to say nothing. The seller puts on a mortified expression, his hands landing dramatically on his cheeks, and I make to leave. He calls me back in a begging voice, and I return with a scowl. We continue in this manner until it is settled. I sigh impatiently as I pay him with the gold coins, and put everything in the big leather pouch that I’ve been carrying.

We go on like this, with me purchasing slippers, one silk pair with embroidered beads, sleep dresses, perfumed soaps and the spicy tea that she loves. As we approach a stall with items of a more personal nature, she stops and glances at me, and I find that she’s blushing.

“Please Sandor, I would appreciate if you didn’t hover over me like this at this stall. I’m sure that if even you stand a bit further, I’ll still be close enough.”

I sigh through clenched teeth, but I still give her the coins and retreat. As I observe, I see that the bargaining doesn’t take long, and I spy the glint of satisfaction in the sellers’ face. She’s been robbed, but I’m sure that even if she knew it she wouldn’t care, as she probably thinks that all this haggling is beneath a lady’s a ladies good manners.

When we visit others stalls, I take care to do once again do the bargaining. We manage books and a rounded stringed instrument with a long neck, called a _mandolin_. I’m glad now that I’ve agreed to let Thoren pay me, and pay me well he did. I won’t have to touch my own founds yet.

Then I spy a stall for men’s garments, and I’m surprised to find tunics and breeches long and big enough for me, although they come in pale colours that I dislike, as they’ll show stains and dirt right away. I don’t hide my discontent from the seller.

“These colours are not good for me. Have these garments dyed in black and I’ll come pick them up tomorrow.”

The seller looks at me in bewilderment, gesticulating in excitable movements.

“But Great Lord, dark colours draw in the sun’s rays, and you’ll get hotter! Pale colours will keep you cool.”

I snort impatiently. “I don’t care! Will you do it or not?”

He nods, although he seems most confounded by my strange wishes. We manage to agree on a price and time tomorrow for the delivery of them.

With all that business finished, I exhale a brief sight of relief, and I guide her in the direction of the food stalls. We buy grilled meat and vegetables skewed on wood sticks and mint tea and wine. There are no benches here, but small marble round tables with delicate ornate chairs. I spy these chairs with mistrust and as I sit down cautiously on one, I find that they’re sturdier that I had first thought, although I have to sit with my legs wide open to keep my balance. I’ve dropped the bulging leather pouch between my feet.

The food is surprisingly good, and I find that I’m enjoying its spicy taste. I wolf it down, while Sansa nibbles on hers more delicately. Our hunger satisfied, I take a big swallow of wine and she sips at her tea. She has that ghost smile and her eyes are sparkling.

“Thank you so much Sandor for this.” I’m still uncomfortable with this courtesy, as I would like to tell her that I give only because I want to, so no there’s no need for thanks. But I say nothing; I’m pleased that she seems so happy. There she is all excited about this new finery, while I’m simply satisfied that I’ll finally have sets of clean garments _again._  

She looks expectantly at me, and I know what she wants to say before she opens her mouth. “I love it here; it’s so beautiful and colourful! May we stay?”

 “No.” It comes out like the crack of a whip, and the hopeful expression in her face disappears. She lowers her head almost dejectedly.

“But why?”

_So childish and impulsive, still so easily seduced by beautiful appearances. But it’s in her nature and she’s still very young. I should have understood that better in the past._

So I sigh with regret and use a gentler tone.

“We have to get to know a lot more about a new place and think things through before making a decision about staying there. While I don’t know much of this city I mistrust it, with these people speaking in silken voices and sly glints in their eyes, hiding their treacherous thoughts behind bows and oily smooth manners. It feels like a deathly den of snakes to me, shadows everywhere behind all these colours and perfumed scents. And it’s still too close to Westeros. I want us to be much further from it than this.”

“If you say so.” Behind the disappointment in her eyes, I can see a spark of rebelliousness, and I find my mood darkening too. “Now, I don’t want you to do something foolish because you don’t like my decision.“ I finish the wine and get up.

“Come, let’s leave.”

She gets up reluctantly. I heave back the pouch on my shoulder and we make our way out of the bazaar. I don’t want to still be here when it becomes dark. I quicken the pace as we walk out of the city, holding first her arm so she can better keep up with me, then her wrist, then finally her hand. It feels small and soft in my big paw, like some precious thing trusting me.

We stop walking at the harbor, her hand still clasped in mine. The harbor is almost empty of people at this hour; few passerby’s to give us their curious glances. The orb of the sun is bigger here further south, almost a living thing as it slowly goes down in the sky, shooting down its last piercing golden rays. I hear the waves that are coming gently on the shore, the sounds of a discordant stringed instrument, accompanied by a wailing voice, all so intoxicating in their strange ways. I look at Sansa and see that her hair is aflame, slightly ruffled by the warm, soft breeze. She looks up at me with eyes which seem to reflect the dying light of the world. Bringing her hand up, I cover it with mine and press it down on my chest. I gaze into her face for a long moment, feeling a deep sense of fulfillment that nothing else has given me before, except this place, this moment.  I wish that I could stay there forever.

Then the sun disappears, and with the coming dark, the spell is broken. No harbor is safe at this time of night, and I tug on her hand and we walk the rest of the way to the ship. The ship is quiet too, with a lot of the men on shore leaves. That feels good too, a bit of peace and quiet.

Entering the cabin, I dump the bag on the floor. She just stands there, eyeing it with an unreadable expression. She has remained silent and I don’t trust this.  I put myself in front of her to cut off her view of anything else but me.

“Look at me, little bird. I know that you’re unhappy with my decision, but no defying me this time, will you?”

She sighs sullenly “Yes, I promise,” and before I can open my mouth, she finishes it for me. “Or there will be hell to pay. I know.”

“Good.”

I sit down on the divan, stretching my legs in front of me, while I watch her taking things out of the bag. I’m thinking that I could get used to days like this easily. She’s smiling now and has regained her good mood. She’s hard to keep pace with. I can’t understand how she can change moods that quickly, like a child. My own memories of being a child are one main mood: _being fucking scared most of the time._

“Finally, I’ll be able to sleep in something else than these dresses! I’ll put a new one on right away. I have to admit to you that while I said that I was content with these dresses, it was not entirely true. They’re a bit rough, although I was still _grateful_ to have more than one of them.”

I laugh, as I’m not surprised at all by this white lie. She is still eager to please as to keep conflicts and criticising at bay, and I find that I don’t have the heart to scold her about it. _Give her time to feel more at ease with you and others so she can feel free to speak her mind all the time._

And like a child, she starts quickly to yawn, exhausted from this day. She brings the pile with her in my chamber and retires as soon as she has put it away in the chest.

I leave to join Thoren, so we can discuss tomorrow tasks, and I find that strange as it may be for me, I _feel happy._


	12. Sansa's Journal

**Sansa’s Journal**

 

Sandor took some time to explain things to me this morning before leaving for the city. He said that while the captain was teaching him about the Free cities and the lands beyond it, that he would trust his own feelings about the places that the freighter would dock in, and that we wouldn’t settle in a place that I didn’t like.

I realise now that I was too hasty and impulsive about wanting to stay at the first city that we had docked in! It’s just that I’m not used to travelling for so long and that my nature wants to put down roots fast; because I want the hole left by the loss of my childhood home to be filled quickly. I want a house near the sea that I’ve grown to love so much where I’ll feel safe, where I’ll know that I’ve have escaped from the King and the knights. Then I’ll believe that I’m finally free from the Red Keep.

I’ve come to fear Sandor less and less, and even found that I’m growing fond of him, something I wouldn’t never had believed when I first met him, this terrifying looking man, this warrior who loved to kill. _And who still does._ While I’m not denying what he is - and I know that his anger will always be there as it is part of his nature - I find that I have grown a kind of armor and am less upset by it and his bitterness. And I understand what made him this way. How could he be otherwise with what happened to him when he was a boy?

I accept now that my life will be with him. In a way, it’s not so surprising; in the years since I’ve known him, he had taken an increasingly bigger place in my life, in my mind, and now, he has also chased the boys who were in it. My lady mother would certainly be horrified, as I would have been before, but the highborns and those who had surrounded them had betrayed me. 

I trust that he’ll try to protect me from harm, unlike these knights who beat me up and the others who were gallant and courteous, but who never cared about how I was mistreated. I had felt that trust when I had awakened on that morning against his broad back, but the depth of it had scared me.

Strangely, Sandor cares about me in his own way; I realise now that he always has, despite his harsh manner and sometimes hurtful words, because his actions have spoken of it. I have lost my beloved direwolf Lady, but I have gained back in exchange the fiercest hound.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A big chapter, filled with Sandor in action and a dangerous joining; the last one of the first part of this tale.

**Sandor**

The next day, I manage to wrap up the ship’s business and my own. Although I’m running a bit late, I have to return to the bazaar to pick up my garments. Sansa has asked me this morning to come get her so she could see the bazaar again, but I have refused. I didn’t have a good feeling about these alleys, and I didn’t want her there if something were to happen.  

And when I get there, some treachery happens just as I had expected.

As I stand near the table, inspecting the garments which have been dyed satisfactorily, I feel something brush against my side, almost like a tickle, and when I reach instinctively to touch my leather purse coin, I find that it’s gone. I turn around quickly and spy a slight’s man silhouette, dressed like so many in a pale tunic and trousers hurrying through the crowd, and I go off after him right away.

I don’t bother to hide my pursuit, and he must have heard my heavy pounding footsteps, as he starts to weave in and out, scurrying like a rat does. He has a good head start on me and while I’m not nimble as him, my legs are much longer than his and I’m a Hound who never lets go of the scent in the hunt.

It takes three turns of these alleys before I manage to catch up to him as he enters a very small courtyard surrounded by blind walls. I grab him from behind with a hard arm, while he struggles and protests plaintively, yapping without end. I ignore his words, as I feel he wants to distract me with them. Then I spy two others coming at us with knives raised, looking so much like the thief that they could be fucking brothers. I realise then that he has led me here on purpose as to bring me into this ambush. It makes my nostrils flare with rage.

The one on the left opens his mouth, speaking with the signing accent.

“You, you leave him unharmed, and maybe we won’t kill you.”

I spit at them contemptuously. I’m watching for any miniscule change in their movements and eyes. I see nothing. They hide their intent better than western men. Some kind of instinct makes me grab the thief by the scruff of his neck and the seat of his pants, and I just have time to lift him up to my height like a shield before I hear the knives whistling and feel the impact of the blades burying themselves in his body with a wet sound. He gurgles. I sway for a moment, and I regain my balance as I release my hold on him and let his body fall to my left side.

Their eyes, which have been become rounded with shock, now start to fill with fear as they realise their predicament. I’m still blocking their only means of escape, and now they are weaponless. I laugh mockingly as I advance on them, unsheathing my sword. They keep babbling like their counterpart and I pierce one in the belly and on the next move strike the other in the chest, and then it’s done.

I kneel on one knee amidst the spilled blood and turn the first corpse on its back. The two knives are embedded close to another; one on his forehead and the other at his throat. This could have been me if I hadn’t obeyed my instinct. _Good knife throwing._ I pat down his body, finding a suspiciously hard bulge in the pants’ pocket, and reaching in I retrieve it. There I’ve found my coin purse, cut from its belt. I pocket it, wipe my blade on one of his pants’ leg, sheathe my sword and return to the alleys.

I walk slowly in the direction of the seller stall, swaggering deliberately through the crowd as to make myself appear even bigger, a scornful set to my features. People give me more space. When the seller spies me approaching his table, his eyes become fearful and then I fully understand the treachery: _he had set this up beforehand with the thieves!_ That makes me grit my teeth. I act nonchalant though, asking him about what I owe him. His hands gesticulate wildly before his face.

“A mistake great lord! I apologise for everything, nothing to pay! You owe me nothing.”

“Good, as you won’t need money where I’m sending you.”

Before he has time to react, I lean over the table and grab his head between my hands and twist his head sharply on his neck, creating a great grinding and popping of bones. I haven’t used a weapon this time, as I don’t want any blood spilled on my new clean garments. I let him go and he falls backwards, sliding on the wall of the booth and ending down on the pavement behind the table.

I let out a long sigh and turn around quickly, and as I have expected I find myself surround by men with eyes narrowed, these wicked curved knives having appeared in some hands. Without pause, I unsheathe my long sword with my two hands and gripping it, I give a mighty swing and cut an arc with the blade though them, making blood fly. Then everything turns silent.

Everybody looks at me fearfully, and as I gaze at them back with the bloody sword still in gripped in one hand, they start to retreat and then some even run. I laugh again. While keeping a close watch, I gather my garments and put them in the leather pouch, which I swing on my shoulder. I start to walk back with my sword still out and I turn around regularly to check if anybody is following me. When I arrive at the end of the alleys, I sheathe the longsword, and stride faster to the harbor.

Well, that settles it then for Volantis. I would have no fucking peace there, and I’m already too well known. Also, _they talk too much._ I just hope that the other cities won’t be like this; but this has just confirmed my view that the word is a dangerous place, that I have to learn new things and adapt to a new way of thinking.  I just hope that there will be elephants somewhere else, as I would really like to see one closer and examine it.  

As I get on the ship, I spy Sansa and Booka, who follows me around now and whom I had left to guard her.  Booka had told me not long ago that he wanted to follow me when I would get off the ship to settle someplace. It was true that he had started to develop some special loyalty to me soon on the journey; he had never flinched from the sight of my burns, was good natured and friendly. I had asked him what he thought that he could do for me on land.

“Guard your house and your lady while you’re away, assist you in your endeavors, even be your sworn shield, like you say in Westeros.”

That had made me laugh. As if I needed one! However, he was getting along fine in his training, having natural abilities with weapons. I thought if he got good with a knife and a sword, he’d be quite dangerous: fooling people into thinking that he was harmless with his sunny disposition.

I had wondered at how he would feel about not travelling on the sea anymore, and he had replied that he had become a sailor to explore the world, had seen a lot of it and was ready now to settle down, working for somebody worthy. He had been good with Sansa after I had killed off her attacker, and she seemed at ease with him too. I had him play his instrument to her while she was on the deck with me, and she had been entranced. She has even asked him if he would teach her songs from the Summer Isles.

Both are waiting at the bottom of the stairway. She has put on the green tunic and flowing pants and the contrast with her hair reminds me again of these colourful birds from Southern Isles. _What a wonderful sight after what has happened._ Being this late in coming back, I’m not surprised that she’s looking very worried. When she sees me, her face lights up with an expression of deep relief. She moves as if to hurry toward me, but I stay her with my hand.

“Sandor!” she cries out. “You took so long in coming back, I was afraid something bad had happened to you!”

It makes me chuckle. “No, I’m alright, but something _bad_ happened to some fucking thieves who thought that I was fair game, being a foreigner to these parts.”

I’m walking in their direction and it’s only then that she notices the stains of blood that are all over me. Her hands fly instinctively to her mouth to stifle a gasp, and I come no nearer.

“I _told_ you that we had to be careful in these alleys. They must have spotted me yesterday, and when I came back today, they probably couldn’t believe their luck.”  And I had been _distracted_ yesterday, pleased with her delight in everything and throwing money around carelessly. I _hadn’t_ spotted them.

Booka looks at me, an excited spark to his eyes. “How many where they?”

I don’t think that Sansa needs to hear this, and I bid her to go back to the cabin and say that I’ll be along shortly. She obeys silently, and when she has ascended the stairs and closed the door behind her, Booka raises his eyebrows expectantly at me. I can’t help but to shake my head at his eager expression.

“About fifteen, but not all at the same time.” He whistles at this, much impressed, and I tell him the details and he’s grinning. I never thought that this mild and good natured young fellow was so bloodthirsty.

Then I ask him to bring me a bucket of water to the privy, and as I look in the mirror there I find that I look like I’ve been in a battle. Spots of blood are everywhere: on my face, my hands, arms and plate; even in my hair. I remove the armor, the belts with the weapons and the mail, thinking that I’ll clean them later. With a big cloth and looking in the mirror, I rub the blood off my face, hair and hands. Being quite thirsty, I take welcome gulps of the cool water. I gather my gear in a big bundle and then I go back to our quarters, feeling uncertain as I open the door to the cabin, not knowing what reception I will get. I know that she’s always been horrified at how easily killing comes to me.

She must have been in the chamber. As soon as I close the door, she flies through the open doorway of the chamber, and I fling my heavy bundle on the divan as she literately hurls herself at me, her hands on my chest and her face looking up at mine anxiously. This throws me off, as it’s not exactly what I had expected.

“Sandor, I was so scared that you were not coming back, that you had died!”

I look down at her with a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “You wasted time worrying about me. I was the meanest dog that they had ever encountered in their lives. Don’t fret.” 

She buries her face in my chest, and my arms come around her hesitantly, as I get a disturbing sensation that I’m dangerous ground; feeling like I’m teetering on the edge of some abyss.  Now, I don’t want to listen to this; I ignore the feeling and push down it fiercely. I stroke that wonderful, silky copper hair and she sighs contently.  She looks up at me, one hand climbing up and caressing my bearded throat and chin, in slow strokes that make me feel immediately very lightheaded. I rest my forehead against the top of her head.

“Stop this...” I beg in a raspy tone. “Stop me!”

She gazes at me with that ghost smile again; this smile that makes me want to lose myself in it and believe that I can forget all that’s bad and ugly. I take her head between my hands and look at her intently. I sway on my feet and crush her against me, one hand grabbing the back of her neck and lowering my head. _Kissing is something that I don’t know..._ Whores don’t kiss, and I hadn’t felt the need for it. But I find that it comes naturally; I kiss her at first gently; just a brushing of lips, some delicate nibbling, then more. She parts her lips without resistance against my probing tongue, and I drink of her mouth as a very thirsty dog would drink of some potent wine from his bowl. _Gods, this is so good!_ It lasts so long that when I wrench my mouth away, I’m breathing hard.

Her arms go around my neck, and deep moan involuntary escapes from me. I hold her tight against me. I kiss her hair, her face; devour her mouth again and again. My hands slide up and down her slender body, like mad creatures that have been freed suddenly, feeling the heat of her skin underneath the thin fabric, the delicate bones, and all of the enticing curves.  I can’t seem to stop grunting and groaning loudly. In a sudden movement, I lift her up and carry her to my room, still kissing her.

I sit her gently on the edge of the bed. Standing up again, I remove my tunic and boots. As I approach, I kneel down in front of her, slide down her flowing pants, leaving her with the tunic. I take off her slippers, caressing her feet and kissing them, my mouth moving up slowly on her calves, knees, thighs.

“Lie down, Sansa.”

I lift off the tunic and part her thighs slowly with my hands, lifting them up on my shoulder, gazing at her womanhood, the copper hair that is there too. I lower my face. An intoxicating scent fills up my nostrils and my head and I bury my face in the delicate folds, licking and tasting ravenously. Seven hells, I’ll never get enough.  As I hear little sighs coming from her, my body tingles all over, I open my mouth wider taste more of her and my hands grab her hips hard. She gives out a yelp of pain and I stop, raising my head. _Slow down, gentle now._ I rise from my knees, raise her arms to remove the tunic and lifting her, I lay her down in the middle of the bed, then I get on it, resting on my side, feasting my eyes on that beautiful slender body. Gods, her skin! It has the texture of a creamy pearl, smooth and softly glowing. I slowly stroke her small waist, her arms, belly and breasts, sucking on the rosy little buds.  I lower down my head to get even more of these delicious silky kisses, and then I can’t wait anymore; shifting, I lower myself on top of her, my elbows and forearms supporting most of my weight. I lower my breeches and part her thighs with a knee, whispering against her forehead.

“I’m sorry little bird; this will hurt, but only for a while. Don’t be afraid.”

 _But she is._ I have already felt her body stiffen with the dread caused by the sudden weight of man bearing down on her, my hard part pushing against her soft part. Her blue eyes look fearful. Tensing up my hips, I give a sudden lunge, entering in one swift stroke. She whimpers and arches her hips against the pain. I feel badly about causing another hurt, and kiss her forehead, the tears on her lashes. I don’t move, letting her get used to the feeling of me inside her, and when I feel the stiffness leave her limbs, I start with slow strokes, trembling at the wonder of it. She looks directly in my eyes, her gaze never wavering from mine; her fingers entwine themselves in my hair and that creates a most exquisite shivering all over my skin. I groan and move quicker, an unbearable tension building up and I can’t stop the explosion, the release that comes with such a piercing sweetness that I grunt like a man fighting for his life. 

I roll off to free her from my weight and rest on my back, keeping my body close to hers. I’m panting so hard that I can’t move for minutes, my chest rising and falling swiftly. I close my eyes. She has turned on her side; I can feel her soft breath cooling my upper arm, some strands of her hair on my arm.

Then something shifts in me, something _cold._ An unnamed dread compels me to keep my eyes shut, making me unable to open them and look at her. After another long moment, when I do dare to look, her own eyes are closed and she seems to sleep. I don’t know what I had expected, but it doesn’t feel right somehow; my heart sinks. _How can she have fallen asleep so quickly_? I keep looking at her and her eyes remain closed. The wellbeing evaporates instantly; doubt and turmoil start to gnaw in me _. She probably can’t bear to look at me anymore._   A little hand comes to rest on my forearm, such a natural trusting gesture that I feel a lump forming in my throat, but I fight the feeling because I know it’s not true! _It’s the gift of pity!_   The pain in my throat moves rapidly to my chest, soon engulfing it completely, constricting it heavily. _NO!_ The feeling that I had buried is coming swiftly upon me; this teetering on the edge of the abyss that I had sensed earlier returns savagely, and except this time, I feel myself falling into it.

 _I have to get up!_ In spite of my growing panic, I move slowly as not to disturb her and cover her with the bedding.  I get up from the bed, putting on my tunic and boots again with frantic speed. Taking a lighted candle with a saucer, I walk silently to the door and close it carefully as to make no noise. I lock the other door and sit down with my back resting against it like a guard dog, the candle next to me on the floor. I cross my legs and rest my arms on my raised knees, bending my neck. I’m breathing hard again; my chest feels like it’s going to crack open, and sobs start to come out of my throat.

I‘m falling into a black dungeon, where my darkest and deepest fears lie. I’m sensing that the old hard knot of anger in me has started to loosen. _I don’t want it to, not when I need it now more than ever!_  But I can already feel the hard layers melting off one by one, leaving me naked and vulnerable. I can’t run anymore from it, and now I see it all... What a supreme irony! All the battles, the fighting, facing death every day; they were nothing! It all had come so naturally and easily to me, and yet I had been so proud of it all, thinking that I was fearless, hard and invulnerable! Never having had let anything touch, me except anger, killing and drinking; never being again like the little boy that I was, _defenceless helpless..._

But there had come another danger yet, unexpected in its nature, appearing in the deathly guise of beauty and innocence; a lure that I had been unable to resist. As soon as I had seen her at Winterfell, I had known that I wanted her. I had felt hope, thought that with a desire this strong she was fated to be a gift for me; _regardless of rank and circumstances and my horrible scars._ Even though her fear and revulsion of me _were the hard truth,_ and were expressed every time that she was in my presence,I had obstinatelyclung to that hope like a madman - the hope that wasn’t hope anymore but some kind of disease that had taken a life of its own. But it had never been meant as a gift for me, but a curse of these mocking gods! These gods that she had almost started me believe in. 

But she had only accepted my help because she was desperate and willing to do anything to escape from the King: _finally looking at me without flinching._ Being forced to depend on me for her survival and safety, wanting me to continue protecting her; she had changed how she behaved toward me. Being a woman now, she had gotten smarter, sensing the weakness that I had for her, and had started to be sweet to me.

And it had worked. Her every gestures of sweetness, however hard I fought them still found their way in, gradually crumbling away at my defenses, _seducing me,_ each one putting me closer and closer on the edge of that damn abyss, and like a fucking dimwit, I had ignored reality; now it was coming back to bite me in the face.

She had hidden her natural horror as to give me what she knew I wanted and then she couldn’t bear to go on for another moment, having been this close to me, my scars. _That’s why she was pretending to sleep..._

 _NO! I can’t stand this!_ What will follow after? An expression of revulsion in an off guard moment, and then a frantic covering up of it... _Lies..._ _More revulsion more lies..._ And then I will die a much worse death than by physical means; I will shatter in a thousand pieces, rotting from the inside like a dead tree and like it, I will be lifeless while still standing up.

And what will happen when we find somewhere to live on this continent? Being so beautiful and a lady, men, _handsome_ and richer men will become enamored of her and offer her everything that she’s ever dreamed of, will seduce her with the pretty words that she likes and having no use for me anymore, she’ll fly away, leaving my hands empty once again... I can’t stand the thought of it and that of _another man having her!_

Terror leaves me, replaced by a fury that boils like thick dark blood in my head, rushing through my limbs. _My dagger..._ I get up and walk to the divan, fumbling through the pile of gear on it until my gaze finds it.  I feel the need to lift it from the belt, to hold it. I unsheathe it from the scabbard, taking it in my hands, admiring its cold metallic glint, slowly turning it around...

_I warned you not to lie to me, and still you have, with every sweet false gesture and smile. Killing you will be the sweetest thing..._

It will be easy to walk to my chamber, to open the door and stealthily approach the bed, kneeling down over her. I’ll put the dagger against her throat and let it rest there for a moment, and then I’ll point it at her heart.  A swift plunge and there won’t be time anymore for betrayal. This torment will stop once and for all.

I can see it all through my mind, these images bathed in a green light coming from strange emerald clouds that I see through the window... The knowing of my intent dawning on her face, her eyes pleading with me but knowing that it’s too late. I realise now that the seeds for this were sown on our first meeting at Winterfell; all the burning anger of these last two years building up inevitably to this moment...

I move slowly with the dagger in my hand, making my way to the room, the door a black rectangle emerging from the shadows. Images appear on the surface of the door: I see Sansa with her face ravaged by tears and despair after a beating; I hear her asking me to stop hurting her while I grasp her wrist roughly; I remember when days after her father had been executed, the King had ordered me to get her out of her bed and I had lifted her up from it like a broken doll.

I’m rooted to where I’m standing. The spell breaks and I’m brought up from the depths of my madness.  _What was I thinking of?_ The dagger burns my hand; I sheath it and slide it fast in a shadowed corner of the room. Am I such a spineless coward that I’ll kill a helpless girl, this precious girl that I’ve tried to protect, because I cannot stand fear, even these fears?

I return to my spot near the door and sit down again. I’m so shocked by what I almost did that it breaks my resistance, and finally I let myself surrender to the terror and the emptiness that have shadowed me for so long.  I blow out the candle, take a cushion from the divan and bury my face in it to muffle the deep racking sobs that come up instantly.  There is no thought anymore, just this sea of pain and terror, the howling vulnerability... Each sob wrenches from my chest like it’s tearing it apart, burning with the same brazier fire in which my face was shoved in by my brother. The tears burn my eyes too, like some poison inside of me is coming out. It is excruciating, unbearable and yet I endure it; as it pours out of me I see other things that were yet hidden deeper inside of me. I’m remembering that as hard she tried to pretend and lie in order to protect herself nobody believed it; that’s why she kept getting beaten. Even I had told her how bad a liar she was; that _a hound could smell lies..._ But I hadn’t sniffed any, except for the little white ones, since I had caught her from her flight... Yes, she had been terrified of me and repulsed by my burned face in the past, but this had changed; only I was so full of mistrust and fear that I hadn’t dared to believe it... 

Then the despair returns and tells me _to stop deceiving myself again_ and I feel engulfed in it like a small ship in a stormy sea. I fight it by trying to keep thinking that _everything cannot have been a lie, it cannot... If it is, let me die..._

I don’t know what makes me realize that it has stopped. I must have dozed off for a bit; I feel much disoriented as my gaze circles blindly in the black room. As much as I strain, I see nothing, hear nothing and smell nothing.  I feel like I’m floating in a dark void where time seems to have stopped and nothing exists. Am I dead already? Have I killed her? I don’t know anything anymore.

The door at the end opens silently, eerily, with a light emerging, candles inside a lamp carried by a slight barefooted silhouette covered in a long green tunic. The light blinds me and I cover my eyes. I feel the footsteps coming nearer, and I wonder if this is death coming to me, to finally release me.

I uncover my eyes and look up at the vision, which looks exactly like Sansa Stark, the perfect mix of child and woman. Is the Stranger appearing to me in the guise of this girl that I love? She kneels in front of me, putting the lamp down carefully on the nothingness. She gazes at me with such complete, deep compassion that I’m filled with shame and remorse. I avert my face from her gaze, sobbing again. _She has come back from the dead to bring me with her,_ _and I want to go..._

“Sandor, look at me. _Look_ at me.” What an irony it is to hear my own words flung back at me, but in a much gentler tone!

I find the courage to do it, and she brings out one of the gossamer scarves that we bought yesterday and gently wipes my face with it. Then I sigh deeply.

“I killed her... I knew that she let me bed her because she was grateful and felt pity for me. Not that I was not thankful for it, mind you. But I went mad.”

She shakes her head. “Stop that! Nobody could ever pity you; you’re so strong, brave and fierce. She feels safe with you and cares about you.”

“She shouldn’t!” I whisper. “I’m a killer.”

“Shhh... I was dreaming, a strange dream with green clouds and I heard strange sounds. When I woke, you were gone and I realised that sounds had been real, coming from this room; _from you._ You had a nightmare, that’s all.”

 _So strong in some parts and yet so fragile in others_! We complete each other. She comes nearer, leaning down and embracing me, while she brings up a hand to rest against the right part of my face and head; the burned half full of twisted, pitted burned red flesh. Her fingers are caressing and stroking softly and it feels like a healing balm on this untouched, most repulsive part of me. Silent tears leak out of my eyes, and when she stops, I feel humbled, like a broken down old dog. I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it.

“Sandor, our two destinies are joined now. Never forget it.”

She gets up and extends a hand to me.

“Come. You can rest now.”

I get up obediently and she takes my hand. I let her lead me without any resistance, feeling like the little boy I was, the boy who has been given a chance to finally walk away from that brazier.

** EPILOGUE **

In the morning, when I wake up in the cabin at sea, lying down in the bed with my little bird nestled against me, I’m finally sure that this was not a vision and that we’re both alive. But I know that from now on I’ll have to protect her from _me too._

_I know that all of the feelings of last night will come again; I’ve just started their release.  But I’ve managed to survive facing them and have stopped struggling against them. Maybe I’ll speak with Thoren about them when they return. He’s always been good to me._

_I know now that the gift was for me, as I had madly hoped it to be. Life is not so awful after all._

I have slept deeply, and it is later than my usual rising. In my groggy state, a long buried memory suddenly emerges; a memory that had been lost in wine and time, and I’ve not remembered it until now. Now I understand why I had forgotten it – I must have gotten very drunk as to drown it into oblivion. 

I see it all vividly as if it had just happened, even if it’s four years in the past.  I’m again at this feast, a grand Lannister feast with the lights, the noise, the tents and the games and all of the people. I have a break from my sworn shield duties. It is night. A foreign woman with colourful clothes and kerchief comes out of a tent and beckons me to her. I look away.

“Come, warrior! I felt your presence and seen your fortune in the cards.”

I snort in disdain. “I have no use of such things, fortune teller. I make my own way.”

She smiles knowingly. “I know; you’re the most feared fighter in the West! Come, what I have to tell you is important.”

“You’ll not entice with your lies; I don’t believe in that fucking nonsense and I have no intention of paying!”

“You won’t have to. When I do a real reading, I don’t charge anything. It’s the price to keep the gift.”

I give in, as I realize she won’t let me go, and I have nothing to lose. We enter her tent, and she makes me sit across her from a small table where cards are displayed in an obscure pattern. She smiles at me and I let out an already exasperated sigh.

“Go on with it then, woman!”

My impatience makes her chuckle. _A rare one who looks at me straight in the face and who’s not scared of me..._ _Maybe she has something worthy to say._ She looks at the cards, then she shifts her gaze on my intently.

“In the future, I see a division in the path that you’ve walked all your life, a new fork. If you choose to continue following the old path, you’ll lose everything and wander off without purpose, on a futile quest. You’ll die prematurely young, a miserable death full of loneliness and regrets. If you choose the new path, you’ll be with the love of your life.”

_I should have known it._

I laugh bitterly. “The love of my life? You really must think me a fool. Have you looked at my face? And I’m even worse than I look.”

“No matter, there will be a fair, innocent maiden from the north. She will love you. Not at first, not for a long time, as she will fear you and run from you, until the day that she’ll start to appreciate you as you are; for your strength, your true qualities and faithful nature. She’ll need your help and this will be dangerous. But taking that new path will be harder for you than to keep to the old one, as you will have to reject all the old rules of obedience and duty that you’ve been taught and have followed; leave your old life behind. You’ll also have to let go of your armor, the one inside that is a lot thicker than the one outside. But in doing so, you’ll be able to heal from the past, live with your beloved far away from here, know some peace, and still be able to have the adventures and violence that your nature craves. In saving this girl, it’s you who will be saved. Choose wisely.

_I have._


End file.
